


another sunny day

by kafkaesques



Series: days go by [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafkaesques/pseuds/kafkaesques
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shouyou meets him for the first time, it's way past midnight, and cold as hell, and everything sucks, but then there's this stranger staring right at him and, to be honest, everything still sucks, but at least his thoughts stray away from jumping off the railing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's been three hours, and still no change. Three hours, no improvement. Three hours stuck with his essay, due in _two_ days, and oh god why does he always procrastinate everything.

He knows it's wrong, knows he shouldn't, knows he should do it properly, start with this shit as soon as it's announced, start as soon as fucking possible, but he doesn't, because. Because. Because he's an idiot, probably, although an idiot smart enough to get into a university to study Literature. He has a decent IQ, got decent grades in High School, is from a decent family with a decent background, and it's all very decent, and he's still an idiot, sorry, but he can't help it.

Shouyou stands, abruptly, because he can't anymore. Take this shit, that is. Look at the unfinished essay. Or think, for that matter.

He's out his apartment door in three quick strides, although his legs are short and so is the rest of his body, to be honest, and if anyone fucking mentions it he's going on a rampage, for sure.

It's dark, outside, and Shouyou hasn't even noticed because his brain was busy being cooked for three hours. It's dark, and bloody cold, but that's good, because in a matter of seconds he can feel the oxygen slowly returning to his blood, then his brain.

It's been too damn dark and cold lately. It's winter, so sure it's cold and dark ninety nine percent of the time, but this is the first winter Shouyou spends on his own, without his family or friends to make up for the oppressive weather, and then there's uni, too, and lately everything's just been too much. And lately he's been feeling like this way too often, and for way too long, and he is _not_ thinking about how nice it'd be if he just leaned a little too far over the railing, and fell -

No, no. He wasn't going to go there. He wasn't even going to think the rest of it. He wasn't going to -

Right. He wasn't. Right?

He stepped back from the railing, but held onto it firmly, because the world was spinning around him now, at the speed of light, and for a second he was seeing all kinds of colours and shades, even though just a moment ago everything was dark and dull and grey. He's confused and, oh god, he needs to get away from that railing.

He steps back, and back, and further back, and winces when he hits the wall behind him. He's staring forward, where the city lights break through the darkness in the distance, but it doesn't help; he still feels dizzy, and he knows it won't get any better once he's back inside. He knows what he needs is a glass of water, maybe two, and at least seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, but he also knows that is utopian.

Shouyou glances at the railing again. He's been thinking - imagining - this too often, he knows, and without any real intent, either. He's aware he probably won't ever climb that railing only to jump, or use the soporifics in his bathroom for anything other than sleeping, but there're so many scenarios, and - no matter how you look at it, he tells himself, it's the easiest way out, and screw people who say that's what cowards do. It's the other way around, he thinks grimly: The main reason he doesn't do it is because he is a coward.

And, he knows, he knows, these are dangerous, dangerous thoughts he's thinking, but to hell with it all. It's not like he _wants_ to die, or be dead; he simply doesn't want to live when the singular purpose of his existence is to finish that essay in order to pass this course.

But he also doesn't actually want to die. Or be dead. And that's that, so he'll just have to go back inside, get this shit done, and then he might as well.

Not now, though, not tonight. And not here. Not when it's dark, cold, and bleak.

Shouyou heaves a quiet sigh into the night and, turning around to his apartment door, thinks that it's probably not even high enough, so he'd just end up half broken, and he really isn't -

His thoughts falter as abruptly as he himself stops. He saw something, just a split second ago, and there it is again. The reflection of the dim light in someone's eyes, not far from where he's standing. He squints his eyes, wishing he didn't leave his glasses inside, next to his essay, because he doesn't need them for reading, only to discern strangely floating eyes outside of his apartment in the middle of the night. There is someone, there has to be, otherwise there wouldn't be eyes staring right at him. Must be a neighbour, he thinks to himself, already preparing to dash back inside in case it is in fact an axe murderer. Know what, he'd actually prefer an axe murderer to a neighbour, because he hasn't introduced himself to any of them in the five months he's been living here, hasn't even paid any attention to them in the first place, because his head is always in the clouds and human interaction is just plain awkward for him.

So, he thinks, _fuck_ , he thinks, when the figure in the dark moves and steps out of the shadow they've been hiding in. Shouyou still can't see for shit, but he sees someone coming closer, albeit slowly, and they're really tall, and he remembers that he hates tall people, because, well, he feels even smaller. This person comes closer, and Shouyou should be running away by now, maybe, because he still can't see for shit, and his myopia is reaching ridiculous extents here. He supposes they're dressed in black, or generally dark colours, and everything about them must be a little dark, because there's no way this person is only two metres away from him and he still can't really see them. He thinks it's a male, perhaps, from the way they move, but what the hell does he know.

"Oi," he hears them - him - call out, because that voice definitely belongs to a male. The guy steps so close that Shouyou has to crane his neck in order to look at his face, and he needs to, although it's awkward as hell, because he doesn't trust this person and doesn't dare look anywhere but his eyes. They were dark, really dark, otherwise they'd be hella bright from the moon light. They aren't, yet the moon seems to light them up in a very strange, very foreign way.

Shouyou doesn't know what's going on anymore. Does this guy want to greet or murder him? It's really hard to tell. What Shouyou wants is really hard to tell, too, because, honestly, it's both a pain. He wishes now he'd never gone outside in the first place. He wishes he could just do his work like a normal person - though he doubts anybody does it like a normal person - and get his essays done in time and not be a professional procrastinator. Ha, he thinks, if that guy asks what he does, he might just say that, because why the hell not. After all, this person more or less distracted him from wanting to commit suicide, albeit for only a few seconds.

But still ... he's confused as hell. There's a relentless clicking noise, and he's still concerningly myopic and - it's dark, so he couldn't even see if he had his glasses, but. But what is this person doing. Who is this guy, and how dare he interrupt Shouyou's suicidal thoughts. He wants to ask, really, but he can only stare as a single dot flares up bright yellow in the darkness, hovering in the air just below the guy's eyes, and fade into a faint orange, and he realises that he's an idiot, because the guy is just smoking. Well, this is ... anticlimatic.

"Want one?" someone says, and eyes and orange dot move mid-air. There's no one else here - there isn't, right? he thinks as he glances behind himself, just because - so it's gotta be him. Shouyou is still very confused and still very much lacking oxygen, and the smoke surely isn't helping while he figures out what the hell the guy means.

Eventually, the penny drops. "Huh?" Shouyou says intelligently, because yes, he is articulate like that, "Eh? Me?"

"Who else?" the guy just asks. He sounds irritated, somehow, but why - this is all beyond Shouyou. He approached Shouyou, so if he doesn't want to talk, he really doesn't have to; Shouyou'd prefer that, anyway. But, no, there is no one else the guy could mean, he notices when he glances around for the fourth or fifth time.

"Um." He swallows. He's actually considering it for a moment, because it might distract him from whatever tendencies he's having right now, but, still, nah. Better not. "Um, no, thanks, I don't - I'm not ... no, thanks."

He doesn't know why he's stuttering. Probably because it's dark, and cold, and a generally awkward situation, and he isn't all too good with human interaction anyway. This guy is also kind of ... scary, in a way, but Shouyou can't explain it, it's just a vibe he gets from him. He doesn't see him, after all.

"Figures," the guy, whose name is still a mystery, mumbles silently.

Shouyou feels something inside him snap; he is really not in the mood for things like this. Or strangers randomly talking to him at all. He can feel himself growing more and more irritated with every second ticking by. "Hah?"

There's rustling in the darkness, and Shouyou once again wishes he had his glasses with him. Or he would, if he wasn't already pissed off enough to punch a hole in the wall. He can see enough, though, to make out that the guy is shrugging is shoulders, and that they're broad, or at least broader than Shouyou's - which isn't surprising because even most girls at his high school used to have broader shoulders than him - and that, too, pisses him off. Immensely.

"You look kind of ..." The guy's voice fades, and he sounds somewhat hesitant, and when he continues, his voice resonates with reluctance, "pure."

Shouyou feels his right eye twitch. "What?" he spits out, because there is just no way that guy just called him pure.

"I said kind of," the other says irritably, which - surprise, surprise - ticks Shouyou off even more. This guys has absolutely no right to be annoyed. Absolutely not. Ab- "Stop yelling."

Being ordered around, especially by this stranger, makes Shouyou want to yell even louder, and right into his stupid face that Shouyou can't even see, but then he remembers that it's in the middle of the night and that he really doesn't want to get in trouble with his neighbours, let alone meet any of them. Which, oh, reminds him.

"Um," he starts, and he is seventy flavours of sure that he's never felt so awkward in his whole life. "Are you looking for someone?"

To murder, he adds in his mind. There's just no other logical explanation for someone like that to be here at this hour. Of course he could be here for the same reason as Shouyou, but - nah. He might as well just be here to smoke, really, but - nah, that can't be it, either. If Shouyou smoked, he'd do it while leaning out the kitchen window, not here, where there's always the chance to run into neighbours ... or, well, guys like him. Shouyou's also sure he's never seen this guy before - still doesn't - so no. He's been told he's the only university student in this entire complex, and the guy is definitely around his age, so no.

"Not anymore," the guy breathes out unevenly, but then again - what the hell's he even saying. Shouyou's right back to confused in a mere split second.

"Huh?" He faintly notices that he must sound very articulate, very intelligent, but it's in the middle of the night and he doesn't really give a shit anymore. "Um? What are you doing here, then?"

Shouyou watches him roll his eyes, and _god_ does this person piss him off. "I live here, dumbass."

Clenching his fists so that his nails dig into his palms, Shouyou somehow manages to ignore that _dumbass_ in order not to commit homicide. "Did you just move in?" he grits out.

Eyes are rolling again. Smoke leaves his mouth as he opens it, the wind blowing it in the general direction of Shouyou. "You moved in after me, idiot." Shouyou can feel something warm in his hands; he's torn open his skin. Great. "I moved in a year ago."

Blood on his hands forgotten, Shouyou gapes at the guy in front of him. "No way," he mumbles, because there's really no way the devil's been living in the same complex as him all this time. "I've never noticed you." He's never noticed anyone, but in this case, he'd be lying if he said he isn't glad he never has.

"I figured," the other says, and - really. Does he  _really_ have to sound so complacent. Does he even have any idea how infuriating that is. "You're pretty blind to what happens around you, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not!" Shouyou fired back, even though  _yes, he is, he is pretty blind to what happens around him,_ and it hasn't even got anything to do with myopia. There's a reason his father always teases him about how he wouldn't even notice if a bomb was dropped right next to him. He probably wouldn't, to be honest, because he's always a little gone, heads in the clouds and feet barely touching the ground beneath him. But that can't be the only reason he's never noticed this guy, Shouyou decides. The other must be a ninja, or something. He amends, "I'm just ... um ... not paying attention ... sometimes!"

"Oh, really?" nameless guy says, clearly amused, and this time the wind blows the smoke right into Shouyou's face.

Ah, he recognises this brand. Images of his grandmother's flat flicker through his mind in an instant. The smell odd and thick, but strangely comforting. The memory isn't necessarily bad, but not particularly good, either: As much as he loves his grandmother, spending every second Saturday at her flat was more than enough, really. The smoke does smell familiar, and Shouyou bathes in a sudden wave of nostalgia. He feels at ease, for a second, but also assaulted. As if the guy infiltrates his mind.

"Can't you blow in the other direction?" he snarls, annoyed, and weirdly defensive. He can't afford to - no. Not this guy, not anyone.

"Sorry," the guy says. He sounds anything but apologetic, to be honest, but Shouyou isn't even surprised. In fact he's only awkward and embarrassed and self-conscious now. And many more, and, fuck, this is a really good practice to learn synonyms.

He's been living here for five whole months and this isn't just the longest conversation he's held, but the first. The first real conversation in five months, and Shouyou unexpectedly realises just how alone he's been. Doesn't matter, he wants to tell himself, because he'd rather be alone than talk to this asshole, but he knows it'd be a lie. Yes, this guy is unmistakably an asshole, and Shouyou can't remember a single point in the eighteen years he's lived when he's been  _this_ frustrated and pissed off, but, you see, and he knows it doesn't make  _any_ sense _at all_ , he's glad, too. Glad, because for the first time in five months, he has been too distracted to think about  _essays_ or  _classes_ or _his future_. For the first time in five months, he feels a little closer to okay. For the first time this night, he really doesn't want to jump off anywhere.

"I saw you a lot," the other says, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it to put it out. Shouyou can feel heat crawl up into his face and remembers how easily he turns red due to how pale he is. At least, thankfully, fortunately, it's dark. And cold, too, which is why his face feels not only warm, but also weird. Just how shameless can this guy be? "You've really never noticed me?"

Wow, and he actually has the audacity to sound reproachful. Shouyou's defence mechanism kicks in before he can stop it. "It's not - I don't - argh," he interrupts himself, because  _why the hell is he stuttering_? Okay, okay, change of tactics. "I noticed you _now_. Happy?"

Apparently he isn't. Eyes are narrowed, a snort is let out. "You noticed me because I _made_ you notice me, this time," the guy says smugly.

All the air leaves Shouyou's lungs, too abruptly. "Oh." What else is there to say?

The other continues as if he didn't hear him. "I decided to talk to you because, you know."

Confusion mingles with impatience. It's dark and cold and he just wants to get inside again, even if there's a dreaded unfinished essay waiting for him. "No," he snaps.

The guy heaves a sigh, as though he is the one whose tolerance is being tested. "You were looking weird," he explains curtly, and Shouyou already opens his mouth to shout back that  _he is the weird one_ , when he goes on relentlessly. "And you were mumbling."

Shouyou stops dead in his tracks at that. His mouth snaps shut instantly, while his eyes widen as far as they can. That's the first time he's heard that one. His mother often told him how his eyes were dull, as if he was staring off into another universe, as if he wasn't really seeing anything, or how his gaze usually strayed into the distance or - even better - the sky. No one's ever told him he mumbles. _He_ hasn't even noticed. But that doesn't stop him from lying to the stranger, because it's a stranger and none of this is any of his business. "Oh, yeah, I do that a lot when I'm ... distracted."

For the first time since they've started talking, the other steps closer. In fact there's so little distance between them that Shouyou can feel the warm phantom breath of the other on his forehead. "You mumble about jumping off a building when you're distracted?" he asks, voice void of any emotion.

Shouyou didn't think it was possible for it to be colder, but it was, from one second to the other. Maybe because he feels so exposed. "No!" he says, too quickly, so that the other narrows his eyes in return. "I, um, what? No, I didn't."

He probably did. But he can't let him know. Or let anyone know.

"You did," the guy contradicts, adamant.

Shouyou is at a loss. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He's never had to justify suicidal thoughts. Or, now that he knows they were uttered, suicidal tendencies. He doesn't know how to explain that he is in no way suicidal, as in actually planning to commit. Also, he'd really like to know why this guy is insolent enough to approach the topic so ... so. Or at all. "Well, maybe," Shouyou amends reluctantly, "but I didn't do it."

"Not yet," the guy mutters.

Shouyou's positive that he's never been so freaked out by anyone in his entire life. He remembers being glad about this conversation just a minute ago. Now he wants it to just end, as soon as possible, to get back into the secure density of his apartment. "Is that a threat?" he asks, because he certainly doesn't know _what_ it is.

"No, you dumbass," the other groans histrionically, "but just because you didn't do it tonight doesn't mean you won't do it some other time."

He does have a point, but - for one thing - Shouyou doesn't like being called a dumbass by someone who qualifies as a dumbass, and - for another thing - it's just none of his damn business. "Oh. Um, well, I won't." He really, really won't. Really. "I'm not ... I'm not usually like this."

"You usually are whenever I see you." As he says those words, there's something new, something odd in his voice. An undertone of ... something.  _To hell with it_ , Shouyou thinks; he couldn't read people if his life depended on it. "Only not this ... obvious."

"Well. Um." Why does he do this. Why does he ask. Why does he act like he cares. They're strangers, maybe neighbours, and it really shouldn't affect him, even if Shouyou throws himself off Tokyo Tower. "I'm not gonna do anything," he reassures, although by now it sounds like a record replaying itself over and over again. Then, earnestly, he admits, "It's just ... it was a bad day, that's all."

Shouyou's fingers are growing colder by the second now. In fact they're so numb he ventures a brief glance to make sure they're still attached. He's distracted by a noise - it sounds like a snort and a cough, equal parts. The fuck.

"You're having bad days a lot, then," the guy concludes.

Lately, yes. Lately being the last five months. But that is completely normal, Shouyou wants to say, wants to tell him not to worry, or to stop fucking pretending. It's normal to be a little off after a major change like this, he wants to say, but the words just won't come out. Instead, he opts to ask, "How often did you - ?"

"Almost every day," he cuts him off, then corrects himself, "or night."

"Oh." He stares; he can't believe what he's hearing. Sure, he  _is_ pretty blind, but this he really should have noticed. He's done being surprised, though. He just wants to get back inside now, and away from this ... person. It's weird, because he's never had problems warming up to people. And to be honest that's kind of happened here, too, only differently. Differently enough to scare Shouyou away.

"Well," he begins, "look, I'm sorry I've never noticed you, if that's what -"

"Are you actually stupid?" the other snarls before he can even finish.

"Huh? Wha-?" Anger surges through him again and illuminates him like a torch. He is a university student, dammit, so he can't be  _that_ stupid. "No! You're stupid!"

(He realises, faintly, that be is at least being a little stupid. But hell will freeze over before he admits that.)

"At least I'm not blind," the guy retorts easily. Shouyou's done asking himself how long this is going to continue; he's also too busy wanting to punch something. Or someone. "Literally," he goes on while Shouyou is still contemplating whether or not he'd get away quickly enough after smacking the guy. Probably not. "Where are your glasses?"

Shouyou is definitely blushing now. He rarely, if ever, wears his glasses; when he got them he decided that he looks ... stupid with them. He doesn't seem in the least intelligent, or sophisticated, or whatever adjective it is glasses make you look. He looks just like himself, only more ridiculous. The thought of this guy seeing him like that throws him off. "You -"

"Yes, I know," he interrupts.

"Oh," is all Shouyou says, hoping that this is the end of this awkward encounter.

It isn't.

"Hinata, right?" the other says after a short, tense silence. He sounds different from before, once again, but this time, too, Shouyou can't pinpoint what exactly is different.

"How'd you - ?" Shouyou stops himself and looks to his left, where the name plate is affixed to the wall next to his apartment door. Man, maybe he  _is_ a little bit stupid. "... Oh. Yeah." He feels defiant now. This guy knows his name, so now it's okay to ask, right? Right. "And you are - ?"

The guy's eyes are on him still. By now Shouyou can make out more than that, though: He clearly sees the guy's silhouette, tall and intimidatingly broader than himself. He can even faintly see facial features, although only blurry. What he sees right then makes him freeze: A smile. He is smiling, and Shouyou can even hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Kageyama Tobio."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Shouyou meets him for the second time, a week later, he is literally floored.

Shouyou would be lying if he said that Kageyama Tobio hasn't left a ... permanent impression. Almost an imprint in his consciousness, which chases him even in his dreams, where Kageyama Tobio was what he was, or has been in Shouyou's eyes: A tall, looming figure, sinister, a phantom. The dream was as scary as Kageyama himself, honestly, and that is why Shouyou wakes up sore and covered in sweat on the tatami in front of his unfinished essay. It's no longer completely dark outside; it's dawn and it's still cold as fuck, presumably. He sits up and remembers ... something. He's had a dream, he knows, and an awful one at that, but the more he tries to remember details, the more the images elude him. He gives up, eventually, because what's even the point.

He gets up to take a shower, _fuck_ , this is a lot of sweat. He enters his kitchen before that, though, to drink. He's dehydrated as one can be without dying, at least it feels like it. Upon the third glass of water, something changes, something happens, and he can't quite explain why, but inspiration strikes like a lightning bolt.

Screw the shower, screw the phonecall he's been meaning to make, screw everything. Everything but this halfdone essay.

He finishes it within two and a half hours.

* * *

Shouyou would also be lying if he said that he doesn't want to meet Kageyama Tobio again. The next two days, he makes an effort, all right, an _actual effort_ to stop and look around, if only for a second, but there's no one there when he leaves his apartment in the morning and there's no one near when he returns in the late afternoon. After three days, he gives up, and gives in, and also hands in his essay.

He knows it's not a masterpiece, and it's not anywhere near what he could write, but he's done it, he's finished it.

Thanks to Kageyama Tobio, mostly, but that is one of the things he'll never admit, ever.

He starts to think that, this time, his imagination went wild. This time, he's gone overboard with ... hallucinations. He's had them before, still has them, sometimes. But he's never made up a person, let alone a conversation with that person. And it's weird, because the smoke felt so real against his face, and the voice sounded so real in his ears, and - yeah, okay, the eyes had been really dark and beautiful, but they seemed real, too. Everything about Kageyama Tobio seemed real when he talked to him. Even the smile he darted at Shouyou.

But now, days later, Shouyou's almost come to terms with the fact that Kageyama Tobio is merely a product of his imagination. He gets it; he gets what his brain is telling him: To sit the fuck down at his desk and write a story, to leave university be for just a few hours. He hasn't been writing the entire time he's been here, and his fingers are itching by now, but he can't, he can't do it, not now, no time, later, someday, _he is not enough_ -

When his professor tells him that his essay is good, but far from perfect, but really good, _it really is, Hinata-san_ \- well, he thinks he's doing a little better. He no longer spends his entire weekend cooped up in his apartment. He no longer feels like crying around the clock. He's doing better, he's doing good. He's fine.

Except he isn't.

* * *

Shouyou is starting to think it's the weather. At least partly. He's never liked cloudy days, of course. He can deal with the cold, really, but days without sunlight and blue sky - the sky's barely there, anyway, here in the city. It's different in the country; the land is open and wide, you barely have to tilt your head back to look up and see -

Shouyou wants to cry. It definitely is the weather, it has to be, but what's he supposed to do? Winter has just started, and he's already showing symptoms of seasonal depression. This is bad, this is really bad. He can't afford to have depression - _winter_ depression - in the middle of the semester. He can't, it can't be, and he can't just -

He tries writing, instead of studying. Writing has always made things more bearable, somehow. Writing has been his saving grace, and - after all - writing is the main reason he's doing all this.

Writing _should_ make it better.

It doesn't. It makes it worse, so much worse, and Shouyou cries silently until fatigue sweeps him away.

* * *

There's a tall, sinister figure in his dream, with the voice of an angel and the eyes of a demon.

"What's wrong?" Kageyama Tobio asks him in his dream.

"I'm in pain," Shouyou says, even though he isn't. Not really; there's just heaviness in his chest, and he feels like he's drowning although there's no water in sight. It's dark and cold, at night, but when he looks up the sky is clear and the stars are staring back at him. Or is it Kageyama Tobio? He shakes his head; he's tired and dizzy, even in his dream, and yes, even in his dream, he'd rather be dead than alive.

"Do you have something to kill the pain?"

* * *

He calls his mother, because it really can't go on like this. Right?

But she says ... well, what? What he's been trying to convince himself of, yet the words she says are the ones Shouyou dreads most.

"That's completely normal, believe me. I felt like that, too, when I started college! You'll get used to it, so don't worry! And go out more!"

He laughs it off, has to, because he's breaking down internally, and he can't, just can't let his mother know.

 _You'll get used to it_ , she said, when all Shouyou wants to hear is, _It'll go away_.

Because it will, it _will_ go away, right?

* * *

He calls his former senpai, only to notice how few people he talks to these days. He's alone, so ... maybe that's it?

"You should go to a doctor," Sugawara says. Shouyou already wants to object, but his senpai continues before he can, "not a psychiatrist! A doctor. Um, for a blood test. To check your blood values. If you lack vitamin D or iron, you know ... it might be the cause. You should go see a doctor, Hinata."

Yes, he will, he will, he promises, but he doesn't, because it's almost Christmas and he really can't afford that right now, but after the Holidays, promise!

* * *

Shouyou jolts awake on December twenty-second, because, well, it's December twenty-second. Which means it's almost Christmas, and he's going home the next day, and _it's almost Christmas_ , and he still hasn't bought any presents.

That morning Shouyou, albeit inherently fast at pretty much everything, sets up a new record time for showering and drinking coffee. He doesn't have time to care that he probably looks like a hobo with how randomly he covers himself in clothes before dashing out, and he most certainly doesn't have any attention to spare to make sure he doesn't run into anyone.

To be honest, he's surprised - almost proud - this hasn't happened sooner, with how moony he usually is. For a split second he wonders if there's always been a wall, because it sure felt like one when he ran into it, but the he looks up, and up, and there's no wall. Well, not really, it's a person, but it kind of is a wall of a person: tall, broad, solid.

Shouyou is actually wearing his glasses, for once, which is weird, because he can't even remember putting them on that morning. Must have fallen asleep with them, he thinks to himself; but he is thankful, because he'll at least get a good look at his murderer before it's all over.

Although Shouyou's technically only seen a shadow of him that night a week ago, he doesn't have to think twice about who this is. It's his aura, maybe, or maybe not. Shouyou looks up into Kageyama Tobio's face, and only now notices that he's flat on his ass, on the floor. Ah, what recoil. Impressive.

But also concerning, at the same time, because there's no way he's thrown back onto his butt by just running into a mere illusion. For a moment he's glad he hasn't made Kageyama Tobio up, so he's only depressed, not depressed _and_ delusional. But then he realises: He hasn't made Kageyama Tobio up. Kageyama Tobio is awfully real, and awfully right in front of him, and also awfully intimidating.

He's up in an instant - no longer sparing any thoughts about Christmas presents and time pressure. Kageyama Tobio is _real_ , and he's _here_ , and Shouyou remembers the dream he's had two days ago. He's starting to shake, he knows he is, but it doesn't matter: He knows this is Kageyama Tobio, yet this is the first time he really sees Kageyama Tobio, and _oh god_ he really _is_ shaking.

Okay, so, hold on. Kageyama Tobio and all, right, exactly, the guy, his _neighbour_ , who more or less saved his life. A little. In a way. The guy who actually bothered  _talking_ to him, and who he didn't even mind talk to. The guy who pissed him off and blew smoke right into his face and who -

Yeah, okay, so it is what it is, right? Yeah, so, look. Look. Kageyama Tobio is - yeah, no, Shouyou can't think that. This isn't the first time he thinks of a guy as _hot_ , all right, but this is just. This is just.

Not fair.

"Be more careful, airhead," Kageyama Tobio says, and why is he always thinking of him with his complete name? Must be ... something, Shouyou supposes, but he doesn't really want to think about it. He wants to think about something other than Kageyama Tobio's idiotically sharp jawline or Kageyama Tobio's blue eyes or Kageyama Tobio's ... everything.

"Sorry!" he blurts out mindlessly, bowing as deeply as he can, and it works, it really does work, because like this he can't see Kageyama Tobio and Kageyama Tobio can't see him. This is it, this is his chance to -

"Quit yelling, idiot," Kageyama Tobio mumbles, and he really has to stop thinking about him as Kageyama Tobio. Kageyama Tobio probably doesn't think of him as Hinata Shouyou, and of course he doesn't, because Kageyama Tobio doesn't even know his first name.

He might have a slight obsession with Kageyama Tobio's name, he notices now.

"Yeah, um," he stutters, still bowing, and if it wasn't ridiculous before, it certainly is now. He wants to get away, as far away as he can, now, _please_ , somehow, he doesn't want to talk to Kageyama Tobio anymore. He doesn't know why, honestly; he's talked to hot people before, he's even casually talked to his crushes in high school, both male and female and whatever, he doesn't even care. Or so he thought, and still wants to think, but now there's just the fact that no one's ever made him this nervous before.

And no, he isn't torn between wanting to stay and wanting to run away. He really, really just wants - no, scratch that. He _needs_ to run away, for his life, and why is he - what is -

"Oi," Kageyama Tob- _stop it, Shouyou_ \- just-Kageyama snaps.

Shouyou looks up, despite his every pore telling him not to.

Ah, yes, Kageyama really is a vision, it wasn't just his imagination. He can't even place what it is about the other ... boy - he's a boy, Shouyou is sure, he can't be that much older - that steals his breath like it does. He doesn't have a type, really, but he's eighty shades of sure tall and grumpy isn't what he'd usually go for. Okay, wait, no, he isn't going for anything or anyone. Especially not Kageyama, and this is only the _second time_ he's seen him, and Shouyou really needs to get his shit together, oh god.

"If you aren't going to pick it up," Kageyama says now, voice lower and firmer than ever, "at least get out of the way so _I_ can."

Shouyou, if not already rooted to the spot, completely freezes, confused as ever, and Sugawara must be right; there is something wrong with his head. Or blood. He needs to go see a doctor, _now_ , probably even more after Kageyama is done with him, judging from the look of doom on his stupidly attractive face.

"Huh," he says dumbly, because what. What does Kageyama even mean, what, eh, Shouyou is - yeah, no, he doesn't get anything.

Kageyama seems to understand that, too, because he simply sighs heavily and shoves Shouyou aside by his chest. For a split second he's too confounded to react, really, but when he notices that Kageyama's arm is brushing his stomach as he bends down, he jerks away so fast that he's dizzy by the end of it, when there's a safe distance between the demon angel and himself. Kageyama looks surprised or shocked - or both - for a moment, then bends down again to pick up whatever's he been wanting to pick up. Shouyou only now realises that he's caused Kageyama to drop it by running into him, and he wants to apologise - not only for that, but also for his entire existence.

As much as he tries, not a word comes out; the words die in his throat when he looks at Kageyama and, for the second time, sees him smile.

It's really not a smile, he notices, not in the general sense. It's not like Shouyou smiles; it's not bright and wide and radiant. It's ... well, what is it. Kageyama's basically only pulling up one corner of his mouth - nothing more, really. Yet most of the air rushes out of Shouyou's lungs at the sight - and his lungs are definitely empty when he realises that Kageyama's smile is directed at him.

"Merry Christmas, idiot," Kageyama says. And, oh, _what the -_

He's choking, except he isn't. He wishes he'd be choking, to be honest. He wishes he could die right then and there to escape further embarrassment.

Somehow, fortunately, he catches sight of what Kageyama picked up, and he's never been so thankful and frustrated at the same time, because Kageyama's holding a present, wrapped skillfully, and Shouyou remembers, and Shouyou also hates himself for forgetting in the first place.

He bows even deeper, a mumbled apology leaving his lips, along with a strained explanation of why he really has to leave now, and also a strangled answer of Merry Christmas - then rushes past Kageyama, faster than he's ever been.

* * *

It's only when he arrives at the bottom of the stairs, breath uneven and heart still pounding painfully, that he actually asks himself for the first time what Kageyama Tobio is to him.

He finds his presents, because he forces himself, but he does not find the answer to that question.

Which is part of the reason why he has to literally sneak back into his apartment later that day, when it's darker and colder again, hoping today's the last he's seen of Kageyama Tobio.

Fate? Isn't having his bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Shouyou meets him for the third time, he considers moving. But doesn't. The rest is history.

He comes back home the day after Christmas, exhausted and dreary and definitely not ready for another two and a half months of winter in the city, but what can he do. There's nothing he can do, and nothing he will do. He needs to go to university, his father said so too, at least twenty times in the course of two days, until it was too mach, until Shouyou's very last thin thread of restraint snapped.

He's thankful, of course he is, that his father is paying everything. It's more than Shouyou deserves, and he _knows_ , and that's the problem. As things are now, he can't do it, not even if he wanted to, and he does want to, really. He does want to graduate and get a decent job and be decent all throughout his life to repay his debt, he wants to, he wants to, he really wants to -

But there's only so much he can do.

He needs to go see a doctor, he knows. Now. But now's not the time. He will, though, he promised Sugawara. And Sugawara knows what he's talking about, in ninety nine percent of all cases. Shouyou trusts Sugawara, really, so he calls him again, still standing in front of his apartment. He can't go inside yet, it'll be too warm inside, and it'll remind him of home and of his family and of the Christmas party he's ruined with a single outcry of, " _Enough_!"

"Do you go anywhere at all except university?" Sugawara asks.

"No," Shouyou replies, of course he doesn't. Where'd he even go, there _is nowhere to go_ , _nowhere he's welcome -_

"I did the same when I started university," Sugawara starts, "but at least I had roommates to drag me outside once in a while. Still have."

Shouyou regrets asking by now; Sugawara sounds unhappy, and Shouyou doesn't want Sugawara to sound like that, ever. Or anyone, really, but especially not Sugawara. "Oh," he gets out, somehow.

"Look, your parents are paying for you, aren't they?" he asks, and hits the mark. And a really sore point.

Shouyou simply hums in agreement; he doesn't trust his voice as pain spreads like a wildfire in his chest.

"My parents pay for me as well," Sugawara continues, voice low and full of ... yeah, no, Shouyou won't even try. All he knows is that Sugawara sounds like he's suffering, and Shouyou wants nothing more than for him to stop, if it hurts him this much.

"Hm," he says, when what he really means is, _Please don't, I'm sorry, I'll never bother you again_.

"But, you know, most students pay the tuition themselves," Sugawara continues, "because they have to. Now," he says quickly, as if he sensed Shouyou's urge to interrupt, "I know you don't have to, but think about it."

Shouyou is confused on an entirely unknown level. Think about what - what is Sugawara talking about. "Eh?"

"A job," Sugawara explains, a light laugh in his voice again, and Shouyou's relieved, because this is the Sugawara he knows and trusts.

"A job," Shouyou echoes. But -

"It'd be a reason to leave the apartment," Sugawara tells him, "a reason other than university."

Sugawara does have a point, but still. Still - he has neither time nor attention to spare, really, and Sugawara must understand that -

"Hinata?"

Shouyou snaps out of it. "Um," he stutters. "Yes, still there, but um. I really don't - "

"You don't have to," the other interrupts, sounding a little ... strained, for some reason, and there's also another voice in the background. Or two. Shouyou isn't sure anymore, about anything. "Just promise to think about it, okay?"

"Yes," Shouyou says, by default. And also, "Thank you."

Trying to talk over the background noises, Sugawara says a little too loudly, "Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

Well, yes, Sugawara, there's a whole bunch of things Shouyou wants to talk about, in fact there's so many that he doesn't even know where to start or end. For a second he actually considers telling him ... everything, from screaming at his father over wanting to be dead to meeting Kageyama Tobio. He wants to tell him everything, honestly, because he kind of hopes that -

There's a clicking to his right that interrupts his thoughts abruptly. He thinks it's a noise of the mobile, but then there it is again, and again, and there really is an insistent clicking to his right, and he turns to catch sight of the one person on this planet he really doesn't want to see right now.

(Forget it; he'd never not want to see Kageyama Tobio, he just doesn't want Kageyama Tobio to see him.)

It's too late, though, because Kageyama's staring back at him - or has probably already been looking his way before Shouyou realised. This is insanely awkward, he notes, because Kageyama doesn't say anything or wave his hand as a greeting, simply takes a pull on his cigarette and continues staring. It's still winter and it's still inhumanely cold, but in a matter of seconds Shouyou's cheeks heat up enough to function as a frying pan on a stove. His eyes stray the other way almost reflexively, and he brings up his free hand to try and unlock his apartment door. His entire arm is shaking really badly - from the cold, of course. His hands and legs are shaking from the cold, not because of fight-or-flight.

"No," he grits out, all too aware of the sudden change in his voice and secretly hoping that Sugawara isn't going to comment on it. "There's nothing else." Nothing that he can talk about now, anyway - now that he knows Kageyama Tobio is in his immediate vicinity. He really needs to get inside already - he is no longer trembling, but outright flailing. "Thank you for your help."

He can hear Sugawara start speaking, again, but he isn't having it; he doesn't want to be rude, of course not, but he can't continue existing when Kageyama Tobio is around. So he hangs up, opting to call Sugawara back later to apologise to him, but now he really needs to unlock this _goddamn door_ , so he can _get inside_ , where it's warmer and his fingers will _stop fucking shaking_. Presumably.

"Oi," he hears Kageyama call out as he lowers his right arm from his ear, and he wonders, faintly, then for real, why he only now notices this guy's affinity for taciturnity. Shouyou turns to him and - has Kageyama always been this tall? He has the impression the other has gotten even taller, if possible, and asks himself just how tall Kageyama is. Maybe, just maybe, Shouyou simply feels even smaller than usual - that, yes, that has to be it.

"Are you okay?" Kageyama asks, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"Wha-!" Shouyou's whole face is aflame by now, and that really can't be healthy. Kageyama Tobio can't be healthy, with his stupid angular face and his stupid handsome features and his stupid ... stupidity. No, of course Shouyou doesn't mean that; he doesn't even know the guy, much less wants to. To be honest he just wants to get inside so he can maybe, most likely, drown himself in his bathtub. He does  _not_ want to talk to Kageyama, or be around him, or exist on the same planet as him. He does  _not_ know why, has no idea what it is about the other boy that makes him want to bury himself alive. Embarrasment, it must be. Or awkwardness. Or both, maybe, and he really needs to stop thinking about this already.

"Um!" He sucks in breath through the gap between his teeth; the cold hurts. Looking at Kageyama hurts, and he. He really, really should get inside now. "I, um, yes!" he stutters out, panicky, even though he isn't even anywhere near okay. In fact he doubts he could spell the word if Kageyama asked him to. "I'm okay." And then, don't ask why, oh god, don't ask, but Shouyou actually tries to turn the tables, even though he really shouldn't, should absolutely not do that. "Are _you_ okay?" he asks, seemingly playful and trying to grin, but on the inside he is despairing because his apartment door refuses to cooperate.

"Yes?" Kageyama replies, and - from the sound of it - he seems to be despairing as well, but for a different reason, probably; but Shouyou isn't looking his way, and he absolutely won't,  _never again_ \- "I'm not the one crying, though."

Shouyou whirls around so fast that he's dizzy by the end of it; his vision too blurry to even see Kageyama. "Crying?" he grits out, anger surging through him and flooding his every cell - how dare he, how  _dare_ this person, does he even know standard human behaviour? "I'm not - oh."

Subconsciously, Shouyou's brought up his left hand to his face, finger tips touching his cheeks right below his eyes, and there's liquid. And it isn't raining or snowing, Shouyou is fairly sure of that.

"Yeah," he hears Kageyama say, his voice silent and oddly subdued, as though there's a long tunnel between them, when in reality they're just two metres apart.

"Ah," Shouyou chokes out, somehow, and it's never been quite this difficult for him to speak. He presses his lips together as soon as the liquid on his face reaches the corners of his mouth, but it's too late, and he tastes it, now. It's not even salty, but rather weirdly sour and bitter, which is a first - but when he takes off his glasses to wipe his face and it's damp again in an instant, there's no doubt left: It's tears, clearly, and they're his tears. He is crying. Without any noise, he notes, which is rare: The last time he cried - at his graduation ceremony - he didn't _just_ cry; he sobbed, he wailed, and he would have bawled, if his underclassmen hadn't shoved tissues into his face with the promise to "make it to nationals next year". And now, well, now - he's crying, silently, but right in front of him, in front of Kageyama Tobio.

In short, he decides that this is the single most embarrassing moment of his life. Save for that one time when he - yeah, no, it really can't get any worse than this, Shouyou is sure of it. And, ah, he should reallly, seriously consider drowning himself. With his tears, maybe, hopefully, the way they insist on pouring down his cheeks relentlessly. He bows until his back protests in pain, but no matter how he looks at it, that's not the reason why it hurts to speak when he says, "I'm sorry," or he tries to, really tries, because his throat is dangerously tight and, oh god, he might not even need to drown himself; it already feels like he's suffocating, right there, in front of Kageyama Tobio.

Shouyou hopes the other can hear him despite how silent he is and how strangled he sounds, he hopes earnestly, because he is, in fact, sorry. He's sorry for existing to begin with, he thinks, and he is definitely sorry for still breathing. Most of all, though, Shouyou is sorry that Kageyama Tobio has to put up with all this, even though he could maybe just quit fucking smoking and stay the fuck inside.

(That thought, however, only crosses his mind much later, when he's in bed and goes through his daily routine of looking at his poor life choices, which include moving here and talking to Kageyama Tobio in the first place.)

"It's nothing," Kageyama says, but something is off, something is  _definitely_ off - even Shouyou, with his thick skull and numb senses can tell. Kageyama's voice and words don't match, at all, because he sounds like he is ready to commit homicide. It's weird and frightening - even though Kageyama is, by default, scary, this is a whole new level. Scratch that, a whole new _league._ The aura of complacence around the other is gone, with the wind, maybe, and now there's just pure rage radiating off him. Why, Shouyou isn't sure. He can't see, either, because he's taken off his glasses and tears contort his vision, still. But remnants of his intuition tell him to move back, to move away, to maybe run for his life - yet all he can do is choke out a small noise that sounds like the last outcry of a dying animal.

"Oi," Kageyama barks out when Shouyou stays silent, mentally preparing himself for his imminent death. It is; has to be, because Kageyama Tobio - his nimbus clearly spelling murder - is right in front of him with one stride. Shouyou isn't surprised per se - no, he's only scared shitless, all of a sudden, because this is it, this is the end, this is  _his_ end. He has no idea why Kageyama is angry rather than disgusted by his waterworks, but then it dawns on him that this will be his last thought, his last everything, and the moment he smells faint cigarette breath he realises that - despite his recent tendencies - he doesn't actually want to die. Or be dead. He wants to go see a doctor and find a job and study Literature and, well, he kind of wants to live his life. Too late, though, he thinks, because Kageyama Tobio - taller and scarier than ever - is looming over him, and, yep, this is it.

A hand clamps down on his head. Cold fingers tug on his hair, to tilt his face up, and he has no idea what's happening, but all he does is jolt fiercely and comply. He can see ... almost nothing, honestly, except the faint outline of Kageyama's face. Also, his brain finds it appropriate to remind him that Kageyama is, in fact, otherworldly attractive, which isn't helping him at all. Oh, green world -

"Are you sure you're okay?" someone asks. Cigarette breath is definitely hitting him full-force now, and it takes him five seconds to realise that he is not dead. Yet.

Then something white and soft is shoved into his face, effectively clouding the little rest of vision he has left. He's practically blind by now, but positively still breathing - in fact, no, his throat hasn't been ripped out. He still has all of his senses, he notices, because _that goddamn cigarette smell_ starts bothering him, immensely.

And then, only then, the penny drops.

He reaches for the tissue on his face, to take it off, and wipes his eyes as he goes. The fabric is heavy and soaked by the time he frees his face to look up, and more up, and no, he does not have the self-restraint to not jolt back at how close Kageyama is. His back hits the wall behind him, and his head as well, and he is dizzy all over again. "Ah," he gasps out, glad the hand is no longer tangled in his hair but terrified, no, horrified, and he doesn't know why, doesn't know what's happening, or what to do. "Yes," he chokes out, to his hands in front of his face, and he hates it, he hates this; his eyes are too dry in the winter air. He slides further away from Kageyama, hopefully, because he still has some sort of self-preservation instinct, all the while mumbling, "My eyes are just, um, it's ... no, really, I'm ..." He stops himself there, and it takes him another two seconds of hesitation before he can say the word, "okay."

He isn't okay, at all, and by now he takes moving into serious consideration. Kageyama Tobio is killing him, without _really_ killing him, which just makes it worse.

"Yeah, right," his neighbour spits, and Shouyou looks up in time to see the other rolls his eyes, perhaps, probably, Shouyou really can't be sure - it could be his imagination playing tricks on him, too.

He doesn't get it, doesn't grasp what's happening to him - is this person trying to sass him? If so, it doesn't even irritate him; this whole situation is far too absurd to make him feel anything other than confusion and stupor. He opens his mouth to excuse himself to jump off the railing, as planned, when Kageyama beats him to it, "Just so you know, before you get any dumb ideas, jumping off from this altitude won't kill you, so don't even fucking try!"

Shouyou is stunned, silent, speechless. If Kageyama Tobio really is a mind reader, then ... well, so be it. Shouyou is sure he can't embarrass himself any further than this. This being crying and sobbing right in front of Kageyama. Now, there is that one image his mind keeps supplying every now and then, which involves a breathless Kageyama shoving Shouyou into the mattress or a panting Kageyama pressing Shouyou against a wall - _same thing_ \- and, well, admittedly, it'd be pretty embarrassing as well for Kageyama to see _that_ , but - technically, if Kageyama really can read minds, he'll see that image more often than not, so, yeah, it's maybe okay, except _not at all_ , what is he thinking.

OKay, so it's settled: He _is_ pathetic. He can live with that, really, but not in front of Kageyama, for some reason. "I already told you," he starts, feeling weirdly vulnerable and defensive, "I'm not ... that's not going to happen."

It isn't going to happen. It really, really isn't going to happen. Especially now that he knows that Kageyama, too, thinks that altitude won't suffice. Tokyo Tower it is, then.

"As if," Kageyama grits out between clenched teeth, apparently, because he sounds strangely ... labourious. When Shouyou looks at him, he's scowling more than ever; there's a distinct crease between his brows and the skin around his eyes is all scrunched up, as if in pain. Before Shouyou can ask himself what might cause an expression like that, Kageyama goes on, his mouth remaining a thin line even as he speaks. "I didn't see you for, like, three days, so I assumed you strung yourself up in there."

He points to Shouyou's apartment door for a second, then shoves his hand back into his pocket. Shouyou is distracted for a moment - Kageyama's fingers are, well, long and slender, much like himself. He feels a short spike of jealousy course through him, hot and uncomfortable. He's spent years wishing he could be that tall, hoping maybe fate has another growth spurt for him in petto, but it's never happened, so now he's stuck with barely a hundred sixty-five centrimetres and petite built. People have mistaken him for a girl before, and always brush it off as a compliment, but it's not, it's really not a compliment.

"Ah," he says, trying to smile, but failing. He has to keep his shit together, really, because it's not Kageyama's fault that he's short and lithe and more than just a little envious, so he resists to ... well, to do what? He doesn't really want to be dead, he knows, but that doesn't change the fact that he's sad and lost, astray, and clueless at that. "I would never," he continues, and it's right, he really would never. Not in there, at least. "I'd cause so much trouble for the landlord, so -"

"I mean it," Kageyama cuts him off, and oh no, he sounds even more pissed off than before. Murder is written all over his stupidly handsome face, and dripping from his throaty voice, and if Shouyou wasn't once again scared shitless, he might even be turned on, dammit. Kageyama's hands remain in his pockets, but the look on his face may be enough to haul Shouyou six feet under. Kageyama is ... weird, Shouyou decides then and there, and not necessarily the kind of weird Shouyou likes. Mostly because it's not the kind of weird he knows how to deal with. Kageyama is just confusing, because  _what_ ,  _what in the hell_ does he mean?

The question seems to be visible on his face, wherever, somehow, because Kageyama elaborates, "Don't ... do anything stupid, okay?"

"Ah." He doesn't know what those words do to him, or why, but the little rest of energy in Shouyou leaves him in an instant; he deflates, and his fake smile fades from his face. He thinks he's figuring it out, what's happening: Kageyama knows the truth, somehow, even without mindreading he knows exactly that Shouyou isn't remotely okay, that Shouyou isn't being entirely unserious when he thinks about ... jumping off anywhere. And, yeah, it's understandable, because okay people don't just randomly cry or mumble about ... jumping. With hindsight, Shouyou's been a fool believing he can trick _anyone._ But it amazes him, really, and scares him. The fact that Kageyama even bothers. The fact that Kageyama even talks to him.

He _feels_ something shift within him. It's not a one-eighty. But it's _something_ , and it's mostly thanks to Kageyama. Again. Now Shouyou kind of feels like crying, because he doesn't even know this person and he's already done so much for him, while Shouyou just continues being a seemingly suicidal brat. He hates it, he hates himself. Not Kageyama, even though his height pisses him off.

"I won't," he says, subdued, trying to sound earnest, but he's drained, void of energy, and all he wants to do is go inside and sleep. He'll go to that damn doctor, really, and he'll get a goddamn job, too, if that's what it takes, but for now. Sleep. Just. Sleep. It might just be the aftermath of his adrenaline rush, but - sleep. He needs it. Silently, he mumbles, "I'm sorry to trouble you."

There's zero response. When Shouyou looks up, his body screaming no, lie down, shut your eyes, _go to sleep_ , Kageyama's face is scrunched up with ... something. Fuck it all, Shouyou is too tired to decipher faical expressions, let alone try to understand Kageyama Tobio. "You ... don't," his neighbour forces out, shoulders close to his ears and drawn forward weirdly; Shouyou might find it endearing if his every cell wasn't craving rest, now, now now now. Sleep, he needs sleep, he needs his eyes to be shut and his body to lie down somewhere, anywhere, please, just, he can't do this much longer.

And then Kageyama says, "I don't mind," and that does it, really, it sends adrenaline through Shouyou's veins once more, and, well, he doesn't even get why.

He blinks, which is hard, because his eyes refuse to open, his lids are heavy, no, scratch that, his entire body is heavy, and he's seconds from melting into the ground. It's weird, because while he's ready to fall asleep standing up, the adrenaline lights him up from inside, if only a little. It's an odd combo, really odd, and goddamn he just wants to close his eyes already. "What?" he asks.

Kageyama clears his throat. Glances at him. Glances away. He seems ... not sleepy at all, which a sleepy person is unable to understand, so Shouyou just stares and waits and asks himself why the hell Kageyama Tobio is fidgeting.

"Talking to you," his neighbour clarifies.

"Ah." Shouyou is staring  _hard_ now, trying to see, yeah, no glasses, but Kageyama is pretty close so it's okay. It's exhaustion that makes him falter now - and, wait, where are his glasses, oh  _there_ \- but it doesn't take many brain cells to figure out that Kageyama is ... embarrassed. Understandably, because what he's saying is embarrassing, but it's weird, really weird; Kageyama says embarrassing shit the moment he opens his mouth to speak - propriety is, has to be, a foreign concept to him. Now he chooses to be embarrassed - without red cheeks, even. Or Shouyou has to go see an endocrinologist _and_ an eye specialist.

Despite that, though, he feels a wave of ... something surge through him. It's maybe sympathy, or something similar; Shouyou can't tell because the fingers of one hand suffice to count the occasions in his life when Shouyou actually felt sympathy, or needed to. It's not that, really, he just kind of feels ... bad for Kageyama, because he has to put up with all this (except not at all) and this entire situation is achingly awkward, for some reason. His fatigue is still there, but a mere background heaviness now, and - _crap_ , Shouyou's mouth starts moving before he can stop it, or himself.

"Aren't you going home for Christmas?" he asks, despairing to somehow ease away the tension, and _where the hell did that come from_.

"Hm?" Kageyama's face is still awfully wrinkled and weird, generally. He looks like he's constipated, and Shouyou almost wants to laugh, but this time he can stop himself in time. He might be suicidal, yes, but no, he has no actual death wish. "No," Kageyama says, voice thick with confusion, or something, Shouyou doesn't know because he's tired again, like he hasn't been sleeping for days,  _sleep_ \- "My family isn't Christian."

That does make sense. Again, if weariness didn't already take over all of Shouyou's being, he might have been able to explain that, well, his family isn't Christian either, but his father likes to have them around, like the Sun King used to keep the princes close. It wasn't him who figured out the parallels, but his mother, and it really doesn't matter. Point is: He'd like to explain, but can't, so all that slips out is another, "Ah, sorry, I -"

"Stop apologising," Kageyama interrupts. Shouyou is startled for a second, by the imperative, but there's no real force in the other's voice, and, all right, he'll stop. Gladly. "I told you," Kageyama says, frowning, "I don't mind."

Shouyou stares. Kageyama stares right back, unsmiling. Shouyou wonders just why Kageyama has to make everything so unbearably awkward, but either Kageyama doesn't notice or doesn't care. "Well," Shouyou starts, unable to tear his eyes away, "I don't mind, either."

He doesn't know _what_ he doesn't mind, but Kageyama seems to know, at least, because he's nodding, once, then asks reluctantly, "So that's where you were? With your family?"

Shouyou opens his mouth to tell him that it's none of his damn business, but he's drained and, well, fuck it, he might as well. "In Miyagi, yeah," he says, not daring to blink anymore.

Kageyama has a really strange expression on his face, but by now Shouyou doesn't trust his eyes anymore. "You should get inside," Kageyama says abruptly, clearing his throat. "It's cold."

Shouyou resists the urge to tell him yes, that's what's he been wanting to do all the time. He's too stunned, too, by all of this. He wonders why he was ever scared of this person, and if murderous Kageyama was just another illusion. "You should get inside, too, Kageyama-san," he says instead, asking himself how long they've been talking. It's probably only been a minute, maybe two, but it feels ... longer. Somehow. He tries telling himself it's because he's cold and tired, but, well, he knows that's not the entire truth.

"Where's your apartment, Kageyama-san?" he then asks, just so, because he needs to know which apartment door he has to avoid in the future. That's what he tries to convince himself of, but that, too, isn't the truth. He hates it, he wants to go to sl-

"You're actually stupid, aren't you?" Kageyama says, voice dangerously low, but without any venom, probably. He takes his hand out and points behind him, to the next apartment door, right beside Shouyou's.

"Oh," he stutters out, because oh. Yeah, he might actually be a little stupid, but he goes to uni, damnit, so. Not _too_ stupid, just a little. Moony. And sleepy. He nods, maybe smiles, he isn't sure, and tries again with his keys.

"Hey, um ..."

He's finally managed to open it. He turns around to Kageyama once more, limbs beginning to feel too heavy to bear. "Yes?"

"I really don't mind," Kageyama emphasises.

"Ah." This is torture, Shouyou thinks, but doesn't know why. Time stretches endlessly when he's with Kageyama, for some reason, yet it feels like it's ... not enough, like he needs even more time, to figure out just what to do, what to say, what's up with this person. "Merry Christmas," he opts to say, and perhaps smiles, then closes the door before ... something happens.

* * *

Shouyou thinks he'll fall asleep even before his head meets the pillow, but that doesn't happen. In point of fact, it takes him a few minutes to drift into sleep, because his heart is pounding really hard even though he wills it to slow down.

He needs a new life. Or maybe just a new brain will do.

* * *

This time, his dream doesn't involve Kageyama, but Shouyou's father, telling him, over and over again, to do his best.

It's the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. i have no idea how to tag. i have no idea what this fic even is.
> 
> so, yeah, idek what characters i'll include. expect oikawa to be there sometime in the future. because oikawa needs to be in every fic, don't you think? i think so.
> 
> is this angsty btw? because i can't tell anymore. just tell me if you think it's angsty.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just give Shouyou a break already.

The thing is, Shouyou _wants_ to get up. He wants to, needs to, but the second he tries to lift himself up he notices _oh_ , this isn't working, because gravity is kicking in more than ever, and he falls back down. It's dark and not cold, but stifling, and the dry air burns in his eyes as he tries to force them open, to no avail, and before he can do anything about it he can feel himself drifting back to sleep.

When be blinks his eyes open next, something is wrong. Rather, something has been wrong all the time, but he only now realises, because there's no longer only gravity, but also superglue, judging from how strongly he's attached to his mattress. His body just won't obey: His lids keep falling shut, his limbs won't move, his spine is in pieces, and it's not funny anymore. By now, he really couldn't stand upright if he wanted to, really _really_ wanted to. Seeing is hard, _breathing_ is harder, and thinking ... nevermind thinking.

He realises that this has to be the preface of imminent death.

It's hard to remember anything other than his name when his mind is fogged like this, but Shouyou does; he remembers Kageyama's words and he remembers his promise. And it dawns on him that just because he won't be proactive in any of this ... doesn't mean he isn't going to be found, catatonic at best and lifeless at worst. He pictures Kageyama of all people, marching into his bedroom (how'd he get in, though) to jostle him awake and tell him to _get up_ , _dumbass_ , only to find him rigid and cold and sprawled out on the mattress like a puppet which has been cut off by its threads, staring back at him, unseeing.

The thought is disturbing enough to get him to move, albeit slowly. He doesn't even know what he's doing until he's already done it; he grabs his phone from his pockets and brings it up to his face. He is suffering from tunnel vision, misty at that, so he blinks open his bleary eyes. Only when he goes to wipe them, he notices he's been asleep wearing his glasses, _damnit_ , and his face is still sticky and weird from tears he hasn't properly brushed away before he went to sleep.

He's pretty much blind, and has been for most of his life, but he's never seen this clearly before. Before he even knows what's the right thing to do, he's already done it.

Of course, rather than calling an ambulance, he calls Sugawara. Same difference, he thinks drearily, as he gathers the very last reserves of energy to try and describe his symptoms to Sugawara, which - he finds out - is difficult, seeing as dense fog is clouding his head as he speaks, breathes, exists.

When he's finished, there's a pause, which stretches into silence, and just when Shouyou thinks he might've already drifted off into nirvana, he hears the other speak. "Hinata," Sugawara says, low and rough, somehow, Shouyou's not sure, he might be imagining things, "when's the last time you ate or drank something?"

He's currently trying to wrestle out of the prison that is his comforter, wondering how he survived underneath it without suffocating. When he catches on Sugawara's tone, though, he stops abruptly. "Um," he says, and  _oh fuck_ , of course,  _of fucking course_ , he's such an idiot. "A few hours?" he lies, because it's been more, way more, but he can't possibly let Sugawara know that he hasn't been eating or drinking for two consecutive days, as the calendar tells him.

Naturally, though, it's a vain attempt lying to Sugawara, especially now that Shouyou is kind of, more or less, in the process of dying, maybe.

"Hinata," the other says, inhaling deeply, as if to calm himself down, and Shouyou realises, with a start that actually allows him to properly move, that Sugawara is ... angry. Because of him, because of Shouyou. Sugawara is angry, he thinks, and the words don't fit, somehow. "Before you do _anything_ ," his former upperclassman goes on, voice rising, but that isn't what startles Shouyou out of his bed, "you get up, go into the kitchen, _drink water_ , eat something, then _drink some more_ , and then call me back."

Shouyou is - undeniably - trash, he decides then and there.

* * *

So, well, yeah. Water _does_ help. Food _does_ help. Taking a little care of yourself _does_ help. Thus, Sugawara's right. Again.

But this is no longer about Sugawara being right. This is about Shouyou being wrong; this is about Shouyou being bad at the whole thing. The adulthood thing. The being-an-actual-part-of-society thing. The ... well, the thing.  _That_ thing.

It's nothing new, either. It used to happen all the time, because Shouyou's head is a sieve, really. But that's not it, that's not why. He doesn't forget, he's merely distracted. It happens when he's immersed in something, and God does he become immersed easily. Be it writing, reading, in this case sleeping, or - back in high school - volleyball. Whenever he's so alive he forgets to exist, basically, _for real_ , so that's what he tells Sugawara when he calls him back.

And he is alarmingly unsurprised by Shouyou's justification. "Okay," he says, and Shouyou can _physically feel_ the other rolling his eyes. "Take a piece of paper, or a post-it," he instructs calmly, like he does this every day, "and a pen."

Shouyou can already see where this is going, and he'd maybe even laugh if this whole situation wasn't pretty fucking far from being funny. He does as he's told, though, not only because you should generally listen to everything Sugawara says, but partly because right now nothing in the world seems scarier than an angry Sugawara. Shouyou thinks of Kageyama's intimidating presence as he shuffles through his school supplies, but, well, no, Sugawara can actually be scarier than that.

"Okay," he says, post-its and pen in hand.

"Take the pen and write," Sugawara clears his throat, and meanwhile Shouyou tries to recall a single circumstance in high school when he actually used an imperative on _anyone_ , and he hasn't, really hasn't, he's sure of it, " _two_ \- wait, no -  _three_ _litres of water and at least three meals per day_."

"Okay," Shouyou says, "done."

"Now attach it to your fridge," Sugawara commands. Yes, Shouyou realises it now, Sugawara is - in point of fact - ordering him around.

"Okay," Shouyou repeats. "Thank you, S-"

"Wait," the other interrupts, patient but determined. "Another."

Shouyou doesn't understand. Shouyou is too tired for this shit. But Shouyou is also scared shitless of irritating Sugawara again, so he opts for, "What?"

"Write another one," Sugawara elaborates. "And another and another. At least five. And put them all around your apartment, so you can _see_ them."

Shouyou considers arguing, because what if someone comes here to visit? What if someone sees? What if, say, one specific person sees? (He's not thinking about Kageyama, but he _is_ thinking about Kageyama, and he feels stupid, it _is_ stupid, because Kageyama would never come here voluntarily, probably.) He considers, earnestly, but decides to just comply. It is Sugawara, after all. "Okay," he says one last time.

He doesn't hang up, though, even after he's finished sticking five more post-it notes to his table, bed stand, closet, door frame, and bathroom mirror. Sugawara also doesn't hang up, but he doesn't speak, either, for a while. Finally, he breaks the silence. "Hinata," he starts, and he doesn't sound all that collected anymore, even though Shouyou has done everything he's been told, neatly, for  _real_ , so he's at a loss, petrified, and fears for his life. He doesn't say anything, so Sugawara continues slowly, "Did you go see a doctor at all?"

"Um," he says, instead of no. He was going to go, he _promised_ , after all, it just ... didn't ... happen. Yet, he wants to say, but he knows himself and his memory, so he leaves it at that. Sugawara already knows, anyway. In point of fact Sugawara is probably more familiar with Shouyou's train of thought than Shouyou himself.

"Hinata," he says, and Shouyou starts, because  _oh_ , this is new, and this is terrifying, and he never expected to live to witness the day Sugawara gets angry, let alone  _shows_ it. And, well, that's it, he's done it, he's done _for_ , because Sugawara - gentle, composed, soft-spoken Sugawara - is actually, genuinely angry, and it's Shouyou's fault. He's absolute trash, _where's the next noose_ \- "Doctor."

"Um," he says again - what else is there to say, really. Sugawara is right, as usual - well, no, as _always_. He's right, of course he is, and Shouyou's wrong. He should feel bad, guilty, like the piece of trash he inherently is, but he doesn't, and _that_ is what unsettles him even more than an angry Sugawara. This situation is as far away from funny as it can get, really, but Shouyou really can't help but be  _glad_ of all things. This is soothing and elating all at once, except it isn't _at all_ , he tries to tell himself, to no avail: He's relieved. He's actually relieved, because this is no longer just a vague feeling, no longer just heaviness weighing down his shoulders and lungs; this is _real_ , this is _physical_ , and this is  _visible_. Now he can say it, that he isn't actually okay, because he has ample evidence, concrete and conclusive and perfect.

But like hell he'd ever admit that to anyone. "Um, you know -"

"Hinata," Sugawara interrupts, voice below zero. "Doctor. Now."

* * *

When Shouyou leaves, Kageyama is there, unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth and looking his way. Shouyou smiles and Kageyama waves in response. It's afternoon, Shouyou can tell from the way the sun is tilted toward the horizon and the colour the sky is tinted in. It's cold, but brighter than it's been for months; in point of fact Shouyou can't remember the last time he's seen so little clouds. But he's looking at Kageyama, who is radiant, both all-encompassing and all-pervasive, even though he is (supposed to be) dark and sinister, but he isn't, not right now, for some reason. Shouyou feels kind of warm, but in a way he's rarely felt before, not entirely from the sun, really, but Shouyou can venture a guess about just _what_ it's from.

And when he forces his eyes away, the spell is broken while its remnants are still linger. But same goes for the memory of an angry Sugawara, and he feels cold again, but for a whole other reason.

"See you!" he opts to say, even though there's so much more he'd like to say now that he still can, but it's enough, too, because the incredulous look he gets in return has him laugh aloud for the first time in weeks.

* * *

"It's just a little pinprick. It won't hurt."

Despite that, it does. it does hurt.

* * *

When Shouyou comes back, an hour and a half later, Kageyama is there again, or still. Shouyou can't be sure, because Kageyama's spot is always the same, and so is his pose: leaned against the railing, left hand in his pocket and the other outside, to hold his cigarette every time he blows out smoke. The sun has long set; it's dark and cold again, but the remnants are still there when Shouyou walks upstairs and stops at the corner to just stand there and stare.

It's getting colder; the remnants fade out as he watches how Kageyama puts out his cigarette, looks at his watch, lights another one, looks at his watch again, and puts it between his lips. He watches, antarctica-cold now, how Kageyama switches between darting glances at his watch and staring at the skyline, and it pains Shouyou, somehow, because Kageyama looks ... lost, for some reason, like he's seeing this sight for the first time and doesn't really know what to do with it.

It only now occurs to him that, perhaps, if he is miserable, Kageyama is forlorn _and_ miserable, all at once. And he should feel bad, as in guilty, because maybe Kageyama has it way worse than him. And he does feel bad, in fact, but not guilty, anything but guilty, actually. He feels fiery, instead, like he's about to combust any minute. And this time, he's sure, it's from neither the (already set) sun nor from the no longer existent glow around Kageyama.

He only recognises the emotion surging through him when he's already marched past his apartment door, toward Kageyama, who catches sight of him instantly, but he doesn't care at this point, because it's raw anger, it's _anger_ igniting his veins, somehow. He's angry, far too angry to bother with manners he doesn't possess anyway, and that's how he ends up right in front of Kageyama, pointing at the cigarette pack peeking out of his pocket and asking, "Just how many do you smoke throughout the day?"

For a few very long, very drawn-out seconds, Kageyama looks like he's been asked a thousand questions rather than just one, and in an unknown language at that. "Depends," he says then, blinking and frowning and - apparently - thinking, and it ticks Shouyou off even more that Kageyama has to actually calculate before he answers, "Sometimes only one, but mostly two. Rarely more, though."

To be fair, Shouyou doesn't know what he expected, but he finds himself very (very, _very_ )dissatisfied with that answer. It should be fine, right, that Kageyama's lungs are as dark as his eyes, his hair, his aura, but Shouyou is having a really hard time accepting that. He can barely watch as Kageyama takes pull after pull and parts his lips to blow out smoke. His fingers itch with the overwhelming urge to swat it _away_ , put it _out_ , kill it _off -_ ínstead, his mouth takes on a life of its own, disconnected from any brain cell that might have stopped him. He looks up, glares, crosses his arms in front of his chest to maybe (ineffectively) compete with Kageyama's (successful) attempt at intimidation. And - God help him - he says, "Have you ever thought about - "

"Quitting?" Kageyama interrupts, and Shouyou is surprised, to say the least, because he didn't even know that this is exactly what he was about to say. "Yes, I have," Kageyama continues, looking away, "but no, I won't."

Shouyou just stares. He learns then and there that anger isn't the best emotion to ignite your veins when you're still weak and drowsy, but God knows he can't help it, he can't help himself; he wants to punch Kageyama in his stomach and yell at him for polluting both the atmosphere and his own lungs. But then he catches sight of Kageyama's considerable biceps underneath his jacket, and his long and slender fingers that easily fit around Shouyou's neck to close his windpipe. He should maybe, definitely, change tactics, and yes, come to think of it, he now remembers the first few things Kageyama Tobio said to him that one night; he recalls being called cute, and he recalls not liking it at all. Before he can rethink his words, he blurts, "It doesn't make you seem cool, if that's what y-"

"I'm not trying to be cool, dumbass," Kageyama cuts him off. He sounds and looks murderous, immensely so, but Shouyou is done with being scared, Shouyou is  _too fucking tired_ to be scared. That's right, he notices now, he's no longer angry or frustrated, not even anywhere there. He's tired, honestly, except he doesn't really know _what_ he's tired of.

"Why do you care, hah?" Kageyama spits, tell-tale crease forming between his eyebrows. He's angry, but Shouyou isn't, and he can't be bothered to be riled up. In fact, the more Kageyama's voice rises, the more silent Shouyou becomes. And it doesn't have anything to do with fear, really. Perhaps he senses it; perhaps he can tell Kageyama knows he's right, at least a little. Because - in spite of his words - he discards his cigarette even though it's only half-way finished. The anger is there, though, and it's real and intense as ever. "It's none of your business," Kageyama hisses, and Shouyou finally freezes.

"I just," he starts, then stops, because Kageyama is right; this  _is_ none of his business. He remembers his earliest thoughts that day, about being trash, and wonders just what happened in the past minute to make him act like he isn't, like he knows better than Kageyama. "I don't know," he admits, he really doesn't, wonders if it's just the natural urge object to everything Kageyama Tobio does, but he knows it's more than that, it's much more complicated.

The other exhales smoke through his mouth and inhales it with his nostrils, unsmiling and deadpan, and it doesn't seem like he's willing to continue this conversation. Shouyou should leave it at that, probably, should just turn around and go inside and let Kageyama be, but he _can't_ , somehow. He _knows_ what's bothering him about all this, really. The thing is, though, it's farfetched and weird and a really odd thing to say. He shouldn't, he knows, but this is Kageyama, strange and otherworldly, so maybe he'll understand, just a little, if Shouyou is speaking in a ... foreign language. "Why did you care," he starts carefully, "when you thought was going to kill myself?"

Kageyama is stunned silent for a minute, maybe less. His eyes widen, then narrow even more than before. "Anyone would have tried to stop you," he says eventually, but it sounds strangely stilted, as if he isn't entirely convinced of what he's saying. To be honest, Shouyou isn't, either.

"And I'm sure you would have tried to stop anyone," he derives, because he cannot and will not picture Kageyama ignoring any other person - say, his other next-door neighbour - standing on top of the railing, which forms a strange image in his head, because - firstly - she looks at least eighty, and - secondly - is about as visually challenged as Shouyou without his glasses. If she could even  _find_ the railing, let alone get on top, she wouldn't, Shouyou is sure. Not in that age, and it's got nothing to do with decaying bones. And if she did, Kageyama would stop her, because he'd stop anyone. Shouyou is sure about that, too, as he looks up confidently to meet dark eyes. "Right?" he says, even though he knows the answer.

Creases have formed in between Kageyama's eyebrows. "That goes without saying, dumbass," he mutters. And this time, he sounds like he means it.

Shouyou is glad. And exasperated, because Kageyama still shows no inclination to quit, or at least cut it down. "My grandmother used to smoke, too," Shouyou starts, then stops, because  _where the hell did that come from_. Sure, it's a thing in his life, one that's always bothered him, but he's never said it out loud, much less even thought about telling anyone. Only now he realises how just badly he needed to let it out. He can't look at Kageyama, though. When the other stays silent, he goes on, simply because he _has_ to. "I've never dared to tell her to stop, though. She doesn't have lung cancer, though, it's, um, thyroid cancer, I think. She's had it for a long time. It got worse recently."

He asks himself if it's normal to talk about it like this, without any tears and tissues. Judging from the expression on Kageyama's face, none of this is anywhere near normal. _Shouyou_ is nowhere near normal, and not in a good way. "Sorry," he mumbles, because he is.

There's a beat. And another. Then Kageyama says, "Look," so he does; he looks up to see that Kageyama seems even more constipated than usual. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees movements, but doesn't acknowledge them; Kageyama might be fidgeting. Or he might be preparing to beat Shouyou up. He can never be sure. But judging from the air around Kageyama, it's not the latter. Yeah, no, it's not. Kageyama inhales deeply, and in an exhale, he says, "It's not like I ... want to do this. But it's really difficult to cut it down, let alone quit, so ... not now." He sighs, then amends, "Not yet."

It's a start, Shouyou thinks. He smiles, nods, and finally backs away with the realisation of how unbearably awkward this entire situation is. "See you, then," he says as he grabs at his keys in his pockets. Jacket first, then the front of his jeans, eventually the back. Nowhere to be found; he repeats. Five times.

"Shit," he says, because, really - what else is there to say?

"What?" he hears someone ask, so he turns and jolts at the sight of Kageyama staring at him.

"I ... " He doesn't want to say it out loud. Saying it out loud equals acknowledging it, and he isn't ready yet. He swallows, turns away and leans against the wall. He might just faint otherwise. "I lost my key."

He hears a weird choked noise and whirls around to the source. Kageyama is bent over a little, arm in front of his stomach, and ... breathing strangely. For a second Shouyou thinks he's dying, and jumps to maybe help, but then it hits him. As Kageyama straightens himself, Shouyou can't help but grin at him. "Was that a laugh, Kageyama-san?" he asks, amused. "Because that sounded like a dying tanuki."

Fingers are in his hair before he can dodge. They tug and pull roughly, until his eyes start to water. "Shut up," Kageyama hisses, but he isn't scaring Shouyou anymore. He just laughs, even though he might go bald if Kageyama doesn't stop soon. "I was about to offer you to come over, but not like this."

"Ah." Shouyou likes the idea, although he'd probably feel like a fly caught in a spider's web if he were to enter the other's apartment. Fuck it, he thinks. If he doesn't accept, he'd have to go look for a hotel, and _damnit_ even spend money. He shrugs and smiles devilishly at Kageyama, who immediately stops tugging, but doesn't let go of his hair yet. "I guess I'm gonna stay out here in the cold until the landlord can come, then," he says slyly.

Kageyama's face screams murder, but Shouyou already knows he's won whatever weird game they're playing. It's weird, he thinks, and maybe a little unhealthy; that whenever he's around Kageyama he can go from tired over angry to excited in a matter of seconds, like a sine wave gone wild.

"Get in, you fucking idiot," Kageyama grits out, defeated. He looks positively homicidal, but Shouyou doesn't recoil.

He frees himself from Kageyama's grip. He glances at his apartment door, and only now he thinks that spending the night at Kageyama's might actually be scarier than being strangled and chopped into pieces by the hand that's grabbed at his hair. So, well, maybe he shouldn't, after all. "There's no need - "

"Yes, there is," Kageyama interrupts, and this time, Shouyou does flinch back, by almost half a metre, before someone grabs him by his forearm and yanks him forward, closer to Kageyama, and it takes him another second or two to realise it's _Kageyama's_ slender fingers closing around his arm, digging into his flesh even through his jacket. It hurts, but he says nothing, stays silent for once as Kageyama grits out, "Now get in before I drag you in!"

* * *

It's not like Shouyou's had any plans other than eating, drinking, sleeping. But sitting on Kageyama's floor in Kageyama's apartment with Kageyama a metre away from him was definitely not a part of his plan. And saying he's okay with this isn't entirely accurate. His butt barely touches the ground, really, because he's sitting at the very edge, as though he's ready to bolt at any second. He is, to be honest, but Kageyama locked the door, and he has the keys. It works for Shouyou, it does. The apartment's the same, basically, so he knows for a fact that he can fit through the toilet window (don't ask).

"Sorry for the mess, I guess," Kageyama says awkwardly, glancing around. "I'm not used to having people here."

Shouyou isn't either, but he has a feeling that Kageyama already knows. "It's okay," he mumbles. It isn't, honestly, because if  _this_ is a mess to Kageyama, he doesn't want to know what he might think of Shouyou's apartment. It's not exactly neat, because there isn't much here to tidy up, save for two open books, wet brushes and disposable palettes on top of the kotatsu. It's minimalist, Shouyou thinks, trying to understand how one can live with so few things.

"Mine isn't any better, honestly," he admits, looking around. It's nearly empty, which makes the room seem wider, but Shouyou still feels oddly cramped. Pressured, too, because he's been hoping there might be something he can make conversation about, but the walls are white and bare. Just when he wonders how in the hell he's supposed to fall asleep here (he won't, he's sure), he catches sight of a pile of canvases. He can't see a lot, but what he does see is a blend of black and white and grey. He looks back at the palettes, but none of them fit; they're all a mixture of orange, brown, red. Shouyou sideglances at Kageyama, bent over one of the books, but decides not to address it.

Instead, he points toward the pile behind Kageyama. "You painted those," he states, because there's no need to ask; he knows.

Kageyama doesn't even look up - probably because he knows, too. "Yes."

"Are you an artist?" Shouyou asks, finally daring to sit flat on the floor with all of his butt - a sign of trust. To him, at least.

"Hn." Even in familiar environment, Kageyama is taciturn. Shouyou can't decide if it's frustrating or endearing. "I work as an assistant for a mangaka."

"Wow, really?" He feels triumphant, if only a little, because now he actually knows something about Kageyama other than he's tall, handsome, and a chainsmoker. "What kind of manga?"

Kageyama looks at him unflinchlingy. "Boys' Love," he deadpans.

Shouyou feels his eyes widen. "For real?"

"No, you idiot," Kageyama snorts, then shrugs. "It's some shoujo manga. Nothing you read." He looks up from his book. "I hope."

Shouyou bristles at that. "My little sister reads those," he tells Kageyama. It's easier like that - to tell people about someone or something else, not himself. But things are weird and different with Kageyama, so he might as well try. "I don't ... really like manga, to be honest," he admits. "I prefer novels, actually."

He glances at Kageyama, and catches him staring. It's unfair, he thinks as his face heats up unnaturally, it's so unfair to be pale  _and_ prone to blushing. "You go to university, right?" Kageyama asks. He's embarrassed as well, Shouyou can tell, but at least he has the privilege of not being white as chalk. He just nods, because he can't rely on his voice when he's having heart palpitations, _fuck_. "What's your major?"

"Ah." He hates himself right now; he's so confused and dazed that he has to  _think_ about his answer, even though it should be engraved in his veins by now. "Um, Literature." He clears his throat, several times, before he finally does it, he finally works up the courage to say those words. "I want to be a writer."

Kageyama doesn't seem to notice that these six words almost cost Shouyou his consciousness, judging from how profusely he's sweating. "Are you good?" he asks.

At that, Shouyou falters. Teachers used to like the essays he wrote. He himself doesn't, but maybe it's normal, maybe Kageyama doesn't like his work, either, which is why he hides it in the far corner of his room. He hates that self-depreciation seems to be a thing, but perhaps it's good, too, because otherwise he'd never get better. "I don't know," he replies, looking away. "You're the first person I've ever told this."

There's a long, drawn-out silence, in which Shouyou learns what it's like to regret your entire existence. He's gone too far, he thinks, trusted this stranger to take too much, so as he gets ready to bolt and escape through the toilet window, he ventures one last glance at Kageyama and ... he freezes. The other seems constipated again, at first, but as Shouyou looks closer, he realises that Kageyama is _smiling_. And to crown it all, he's smiling while he believes Shouyou doesn't see it.

"Become a writer," Kageyama says eventually, when he's forced away the smile, closing his book.

Shouyou wants to jump right over the kotatsu and hug Kageyama as tightly as he can, but before he can, he catches sight of a yellow post-it attached to the the table top where the book has been. It's upside down, but Shouyou can still read what someone has written on it in neat handwriting.

 _Eat & drink_.

Kageyama follows his gaze and freezes. They stare at each other, then, and just as Kageyama opens his mouth to (probably) explain, Shouyou starts laughing - loudly, genuinely, unrestrainedly - for the first time since in five very long, very cold months. And then, after a few moments, he hears Kageyama join in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new year, a new start.
> 
> Right?

It's been three days. He's eating and drinking. It's working; he's proud. Broke now, too, because the money his father sends him on a monthly basis doesn't include costly compensation for lost apartment keys. The month is almost over, he tells himself as he runs low on food, he'll survive three days with ... one pound of rice and two eggs. He'll survive, he's sure of it, he _has_ to. If he starves to death now, Sugawara might just kill him. Kageyama, too, at this point. But that won't happen, he's sure. He might not be good at the ... the thing, but he's learning, and he has time. It can only get better, he tells himself, so one day he can remove the post-its and stop calling Sugawara. He _will_ get better, he knows it; the doctor will tell him he's low on vitamin D, give him pills - he'll get better.

He's getting better.

* * *

"Your vitamin D values _are_ below average, Hinata-san. We can provide substitutes ... "

It's so cold, he can barely move. If he does, he just ends up running into a door frame or his kotatsu. He doesn't know why, either; he thought he was getting better. He thought a phone call would resolve it all. Thought they'd tell him it's seasonal depression, it'll go away as soon as the clouds dissipate. But that's not what he's told.

It's cold, but that's nothing compared to the ice that seems to run down his insides at the doctor's words. He wants to hang up, abruptly, because this isn't what he bargained for. At all. He hates the undertone in the doctor's voice - one that tells him she's going to say something he doesn't want to hear. And, well, it's a doctor, which makes it all the worse.

" ... But the low vitamin D values alone don't explain all of your symptoms," she says.

He can barely listen anymore. Blood is rushing in his ears, and it drowns out her voice and the world around him. He nods, and keeps nodding; if he hears or not, she'll go on either way.

"We'll have to take another blood sample," she tells him, but that can't be it, he tells himself, he _has_ to be mistaken, he has to have misheard. Glitch in the matrix, sensory misperception - he'll take it, he can handle _that_ , but he can't handle another ... he can't deal ...

"Um," he stutters - it's bad again. Worse than before. He looks at his free hand, his left hand, and notices he has two of them. Weird, he thinks as he closes his eyes and counts to five. When he opens them again, he only has one left hand, five fingers, and a shitload of anxiety surging through him. "Come again?" he then asks, because he has to, _has to_ , have misheard.

"Another blood sample," she repeats. He can't ask her to say it a third time, but this can't be right, she must be wrong, this _can not be_ , he can't do this.

He grips the edge of the kitchen counter. The tiled floor is moving, dancing underneath him, and he wants it - no, needs it to stop, so he can breathe and be and lie down on it. He can't do this. "Okay," he says, even though he's absolutely, undeniably certain he can't do this.

"Please come by as soon as you can, next year," she says. He thinks that's it, anyway. He can't be sure at this point.

He wants to say no. Scratch that, he wants to _shout_ no, right into the phone. He needs to say no, and he needs to shout, so it only seems like the right thing to do. He should, _now_ -

"Okay," he says instead, and hangs up. Only faintly he's aware what day it is, and what an effort she's made to call, even though their practice is closed by now - the more he thinks, the more it dies down, fades away, the voice in his head quiet and fragmented.

He's been eating, he knows he has. He's been drinking, too, in the belief it's going to be fine, it's going to get better. But he's there again, where he was three days ago - weak knees and limbs, head too heavy for his neck, heart racing a hundred miles per hour even though he's tired, and he wants to _lie down_ and forget the fact that he exists.

So that's what he does, without control; he collapses to the floor against the wall, curls into himself, shuts everything out. He needs to focus on breathing - that alone is difficult enough right now.

It'll get better. It can only get better. He's been through enough winters to know he can do it; so many people have lived and are still living through winters - to some, their entire life is winter, as a whole. They have it worse, he tells himself, he has it better.

But breathing is so hard, he can't be sure anymore.

* * *

When he blinks open bleary eyes, he can't tell whether it's from sleep or unconsciousness. His position on the floor is awkward at best and painful at worst; his legs are twisted up, spine pressed along the wall, shoulder throbbing. Not the only sign he's been lying here for several hours. It's dark outside, too, and in here as well. It's still cold as hell, and the hard floor isn't doing him any favours. His head is pounding where it's situated on the tiles; his face damp and stuck - he's been crying again, hasn't he. He has, he realises as he brings up a hand to touch his cheek, and _goddamn_ _this headache_ , _it needs to stop_ , _right now_. Right fucking now.

He lifts his head - there, it's gone. Magic, he wonders, but instead there's insistent thudding in his ears, now. From every direction, he thinks at first, then realises it's from his right, from the door.

Someone's knocking. With enough force to shake the ground, damnit. He has an idea who it might be - or, well, there's no one else he can think of who might beat at the door at ... half past ten. Wow, he thinks, fuck this, he thinks. There better be a good fucking reason why (presumably) Kageyama tore him out of (more or less) peaceful sleep at this hour and interrupted his downward spiral of suicidality. He lifts himself up with zero motivation and wobbly knees. He needs to eat and drink, for real, he thinks as he stumbles through his apartment. He barely sees anything in the dark - even ends up tripping over the kotatsu, right into the door. Kageyama - or whoever, he doesn't give two shits anymore - is still knocking, and he ends it by pulling open the door so roughly he thinks he might have taken off its hinges. Fuck no, he thinks as he looks up to squint at the faint outline of Kageyama's face. Fuck no, he's too broke for that.

"What," Shouyou manages.

It's really too dark to see anything. He doesn't like it, to be honest - not that he's scared of Kageyama, but, well, he's scared of Kageyama. A little. Especially when he can't see his face, hence can't tell in what mood the other is. He fumbles around for the light switch, doesn't find it, fumbles somewhere else, when something substantial and sharp is thrust into his face, right beneath his left eye. If he wasn't awake before, he definitely is now.

"Here," Kageyama spits, and the shoving intensifies for a split second, after which he lets go of Shouyou. Something has been put upon his nose, so now he fumbles for that, instead. It's weird, really, as if his hands are disconnected from his brain; it takes him too long to find his own face - it's concerning, almost. His fingertips graze all too familiar metal, then glass. He fiddles, then, to adjust it, tuck it behind his ears properly, because Kageyama is way too dumb for this. When he looks up, everything is a tiny bit clearer, but still too dark. He can see Kageyama's face - and his brain thinks this is the best time to finally notice that Kageyama is positively glowing, more so than that last time, when the sun was setting behind him.

"You left them in my apartment, dumbass," his neighbour supplies helpfully. It's him, too, in the end, who finds the light switch before Shouyou can even try again.

Everywhere is light, now, and Shouyou squeezes his eyes shut in an effort to stop the water. Too late, though, it's already leaking. "Oh," he says intelligently as he adjusts to the light. "Thanks," he continues, maybe smiling, maybe frowning. Shouyou has lost control over ... anything, really, not just his face. His whole body, his entire life - but like hell he'll admit that to anyone other than himself. "I didn't notice," he goes on as Kageyama only grunts in response, and it's true, he really hasn't noticed. He's relieved, kind of, because that fucking shit was expensive as hell. It also explains why he's been running into furniture ever since that night he spent at Kageyama's.

It dawns on him then - what's bothering him. It's been three days. Sure, he hasn't noticed his glasses were missing for those three days. But Kageyama also hasn't brough them back for those three days.

" ... airhead, seriously," Kageyama says as he tunes in his voice again. He hasn't been listening - he's been too busy wondering what this guy's deal is. It doesn't bother him that Kageyama keeps calling him names - he's right, after all, and there's never any venom behind it, if he's honest. Still, Shouyou asks himself just how Kageyama can tolerate him. Or why he does it; why he puts up with him in the first place. He doesn't even want to begin to think about it ... he knows he won't find an answer, but only more and more reasons for Kageyama to not spend time with him, let alone be anywhere near him.

But he is still there, in his door frame, even though it's freezing, dark, late - he's fulfilled his purpose, could be back in his own apartment. But Kageyama is still here, doesn't even show any inclination to leave. "Do you even know what day it is?" he asks Shouyou, who can physically feel the complacence radiating off the other.

He tries it, too, when he answers unblinkingly and smugly, "December thirty-first." That, he knows.

But it hasn't worked, if the way Kageyama rolls his eyes is anything to go by. For a second it looks like they're going to fall right out of their cavities. "Yes," he grits out, silent exasperation replacing conceitedness, "but do you know what _day_ it is?"

Shouyou can't believe this guy. He considers slamming the door into the other's face, but doesn't. Instead, he opts for, "I _know_ it's New Year's Eve, asshole!" and ignores Kageyama as he steps back from the door to hold his glasses against the light. They're fogged, for some reason, but Shouyou decides not to ask, like he decided not to ask why Kageyama is mixing different shades of orange, red and brown when all his paintings (Shouyou knows for sure now) are black and grey.

"Are you going out?" he hears Kageyama ask. He looks in his direction and finds him staring. He's also at least one step further into the apartment, somehow. At this point, Shouyou could still stop him. But he doesn't. He feels a little like someone's knocked at his door only to come in and burn his apartment down - and he's right there, could say no, but instead saying, _yes, sure, go ahead_.

"Hm?" He's definitely staring now, because ... him, going out? Voluntarily? Hah, good one, he wants to say, but doesn't. It all comes flooding back to him now; the phone call, the doctor's words, the cold tiled floor of his kitchen ... the laughter dies in his throat before it even starts. He looks away quickly; he might just cry again, and he doesn't want Kageyama to witness that once more. "No," he says curtly - he's feeling it already, the trembling your throat does when you're close to the water line. So he turns away completely, and he has an excuse, thankfully, he thinks as he takes out a tissue to clean his glasses. It takes him a few moments, but when he's sure his voice won't crack, he ventures, "You?"

There's a beat. And no response, at first. Shouyou thinks he might have scared him away, but _Kageyama_ is the scary one, what the hell. He turns around to look, and, well, Kageyama's still there. In fact he's clearly inside his apartment now, as in ... for real. His pulse spikes uncomfortably, because this is it, right, he's going to die right there. Sure, he's survived a whole night in Kageyama's apartment, stepped into the lion's den. But now Shouyou's the one letting the lion in, and he can't help but think that this is incredibly more stupid.

Because this is weird. Kageyama is looking around, thoroughly, and Shouyou can _feel_ him judging. "No," Kageyama answers eventually, but Shouyou's long forgotten the question. They look at each other, then, and Shouyou would have laughed if he hadn't been dying. Kageyama looked ... despaired. "It really is messy," he says. States, honestly, because it is messy.

Shouyou only smiles weakly in response. He's still stuck at trying to process that Kageyama is really here, in his apartment, in his immediate vicinity. He doesn't know how to feel about it. On the one hand, Kageyama is in apartment. On the other hand ... Kageyama is in his apartment. That's all there is to it. He's glad he's here. He can't think of anyone he'd rather be around right now. Kageyama's presence calms him down, somehow, reassures him, perhaps because Kageyama is like him in many ways, and it's kind of terrifingly calming to know that he's not ... alone.

But Kageyama doesn't fit here. He looks uncomfortable. He usually does, really, but it's extreme now. He can see why; Kageyama and this apartment don't match. It's okay, though, because Shouyou and Kageyama's apartment don't match, either. Neither of them could survive a day if they exchanged apartments, he knows that, and when he and Kageyama look at each other, he realises that his neighbour has had the exact same thought.

He smiles. Genuinely, this time.

"I'm sorry," he says earnestly, turning away as he senses the tell-tale heat in his cheeks and on his neck. He knows better than to tell Kageyama to shut the damn door already, because he has a feeling Kageyama is going to close it from outside if he does. Instead, he offers coffee, because, well, logic. Shouyou needs coffee, or _something_ to drink; he's dehydrated again. Kageyama asks for tea instead - when Shouyou glances at him, Kageyama has one and a half heads.

He needs something to drink. He retrieves a bottle and two glasses from his kitchen, and when he returns to the living room, _someone_ has closed the apartment door. Same someone stands, awkwardly, out of place, next to his kotatsu. He gets it, probably, because there's books and papers and blankets scattered all over the floor, and - wait, what the hell is he doing. He looks at the bottle in his left hand - neither coffee, nor tea, nor water. It's New Year's Eve, so fuck it all, but, well, um. What. He glances at Kageyama, who is staring, but not at him. At the bottle. Maybe. Probably.

"Sorry," Shouyou says quickly. It dawns on him then just what exactly he's gotten himself into. "I don't have tea." He's about to celebrate the beginning of the New Year. "But this." He holds up the bottle. What is he doing. What. He doesn't mean to do any of this. What -

"The hell," Kageyama grunts. Shouyou prepares for a tirade, a fist to his jaw, the end of the world - but none of that happens, so he looks up again to catch Kageyama squinting at him. And glaring, in that constipated way of his. "There's no way a shrimp like you is twenty!"

There's a beat of silence. There's also a sudden idea crossing Shouyou's mind, and it does not at all involve smacking that full bottle of rum over Kageyama's head for calling him a shrimp. He doesn't, in the end, because - for one thing - Kageyama is really freakishly tall, and - for another thing - Shouyou is, in point of fact, ridiculously short. Wait, no, forget that. It's just Kageyama being tall. It's all Kageyama's fault.

Shouyou laughs, loud and curt. He doesn't know why. He's still kind of panicking and kind of trying to understand that Kageyama is actually in his apartment. He doesn't know why he's laughing when he's having a nervous breakdown. He doesn't know how that's even possible.

"Where'd you get that?" Kageyama asks, indignant. He's doing the weird thing with his face again, where it's all scrunched up and strained. It makes him look older, if only a little. Shouyou notices now, belatedly, that he has no actual clue how old Kageyama is. He knows nothing about him, really, but it's okay, he supposes, or _fair_ , because Kageyama doesn't know a lot more about Shouyou, either.

(He doesn't know, either, if he wants that to change or not.) (He actually does know, but denial is worth a try, he thinks.)

Shouyou shrugs, then, in response, and sets bottle and glasses down on the tabletop. "Pinched some bottles," he admits, sitting down. He doesn't have to look at Kageyama to know he's being frowned at, so he quickly adds, "From my parents." He cringes at the memory, and even more at the the look with which Kageyama stares him down as he takes a seat.

"They won't even notice - they have a ton of those," he says as he opens the bottle, or tries to; when he ends up struggling with his weak fingers, Kageyama snatches it from his hands to open it in his stead. Shouyou tries a smile, but Kageyama ducks his head over the bottle, then simply thrusts it back into Shouyou's hand when it's open. This is bad, he thinks, really bad, because his fingers aren't only weak, but shaking, too. Partly because of ... his company, and partly because today he's been a lousy adult again, despite the post-its.

"And if - well, it's not like I have anything to lose, really," he rambles on when the silence weighs to heavy on his ears; he doesn't know what he's saying, really, but he knows he sounds as bitter as this rum smells. "My sister's the favourite child, anyway. Which isn't surprising," he laughs, but it's another frail attempt at pretending, so why bother, "because she's the embodiment of sunshine, gets good grades, in _every_ subject, not just in two, and yeah." He can't look at Kageyama anymore, so he sticks with the bottle top, which, honestly, is just as interesting. "Sorry," he stutters out as he shoves one glass in Kageyama's general direction. "Here."

(He wonders if he can get away with escaping through the toilet window here, too.)

Shouyou hates this. Not the silence, necessarily. This imbalance, yes, and the fact that he's contributing to it by telling Kageyama more and more about ... not himself, but the things he thinks about, the things that occupy his mind. So, well, he might as well tell him the story of his life. Shouyou wishes Kageyama would just tell him to shut up, and that he isn't interested in hearing any of that. He wants Kageyama to stand up, ask him what the hell's he thinking, that anyone, namely him, would want to spend New Year's Eve with Shouyou? Or any time at all? And he should storm out, then, and never talk to him again.

(He doesn't want that. But he wants this weird, not entirely comfortable warmth to stop, to die, right now, because it reminds him too much of who he used to be. Of who he can't be anymore, for some reason.)

"I'm an only child," Kageyama tells him after a while, sounding oddly far away, subdued.

Shouyou wants to say, _unsurprisingly_ , because honestly. Just ... well, he doesn't. "Be glad," he says instead. "I wish I was an only child. I was, for nearly ten years, and then Natsu was born." He hates to talk about his sister like this, like he wishes she didn't exist, which is not the case. "I love her, but ... I don't know."

It's true, he doesn't. He doesn't know what he wants, he's never really known, but he doesn't want to admit that his whole life has just been a vain attempt at escape from problems he can't see, let alone name. He laughs, then, because he remembers that laughing is what he's always done, back when he was who he really was. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this," he says, and that's true as well. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," Kageyama says, almost shouts, and Shouyou can only stare, because unless Kageyama's interrupted him, he's never reacted this fast to something Shouyou has said. He looks ... pissed, as always, and irritated, also as always. Embarrassed, too, and awkward, and Shouyou really needs to find other adjectives to fit Kageyama - but he can't help it, that's just the way Kageyama is, most of the time. "I told you, I don't mind," he tells Shouyou, once again.

Shouyou smiles, and Kageyama smiles back. Well, they try, anyway. They sit and drink and stay silent, for a while, and that's okay, too, Shouyou thinks. Yes, he muses, glancing at his neighbour. Yes, Kageyama is actually a really okay person. This is actually a really okay situation.

Then it's eleven, somehow, as the sound of the clock tells them. There's a beat, in which Shouyou notices that Kageyama is now sitting flat on his butt, too, and he can't help but smile. "The year's almost over, huh?" he says. Kageyama merely grunts in response, so he ventures, he tries again, "Any resolutions for the next one?"

Kageyama seems to think long and hard about this. He looks like he's struggling, or fighting some inner battle. Shouyou isn't at all expecting a solemn declaration of _I'm going to quit smoking_. No, really, there's no way Kageyama will say that. A whole minute ticks by, and Shouyou considers repeating the question, but then the other finally sighs and says, "I'll maybe try and not dismember my boss for another year."

They both finish their first glass right then. Shouyou refills them, hands shaking for a different reason now. "The ... mangaka?" he asks slowly, haltingly.

"Hn." Kageyama looks constipated again. He's glaring, not at Shouyou, but at the air in front of his own face. Not at something Shouyou could see if he tried. "He hates me," Kageyama tells him, "and he has a really shitty personality."

"Shittier than yours?" Shouyou teases, void of fear, even though he's practically digging his own grace.

But Kageyama doesn't even blink at the insult. Just nods silently and grits out, "By far."

"Oh God," he says, because, yeah,  _holy shit_. But before he can ask just why this guy hates Kageyama, the other speaks up.

"What about you?" he asks, taking a sip. Shouyou is too distracted to answer, let alone think, because the expression of disgust fleeting over Kageyama's features for the nth time is far too amusing. He's caught staring, then, and probably also caught blushing. He prays to the lighting to have mercy upon him,  _please_. He's fortunate, a little, because if Kageyama sees, he doesn't comment on it. "Your resolutions, I mean," he clarifies instead.

Shouyou doesn't need to think about that, surprisingly. _Go to the doctor_ , he thinks, but keeps it to himself. "Get a job," he says immediately, ignoring Kageyama's stare. Then he utters it, the thought that's occupied his mind for the entire evening, as a background noise, but now it's _there_ , not in his throat, but right on his tongue, on his _lips_ , even, and he can't stop himself in time. He smiles and inhales and says, "Not jump."

There, he's done it, he's said it. But that's not it, at least not entirely. It's good enough, though, mainly because ... how the hell is he supposed to tell Kageyama that he just wants to survive long enough to show him that _this_ isn't him, this isn't everything he is or can be, this isn't the best version of himself; that he's being someone else, or something else; that he's lost who he used to and wants to be; that he needs to find himself - no, _create_ himself once more. And that he doesn't know how long that might take.

But judging from the expression in Kageyama's eyes, he already knows all that. And maybe, Shouyou thinks, that's the main reason he sticks around to begin with.

* * *

That evening, Shouyou decides that Kageyama might just be all bark and no bite. He's scary, sure, but in a kind of pathetic and kind of adorable wannabe way, because he never goes further than (admittedly aggressive) hair tugs and glares that can potentially curdle milk, or blood. He also finds out that drunk Kageyama is overly irritable - surprise, surprise - but sleepy. Drunk Shouyou is wide awake, _what the hell is sleep_ , and thirsty, which leads him to do the only logical thing: drink more rum.

(Kageyama's asleep after one and a half glasses, which means Shouyou wins, so he gets the rest, full stop.)

He doesn't wake Kageyama up, even though he shouldn't sleep under the kotatsu. He doesn't watch him, either, or listens. He's there, next to Shouyou, of his own accord, and that's enough, that's more than he can ask for. He drinks and glances at the clock and watches as time ticks by agonisingly slow, yet too fast.

Shouyou can't decide whether he wants this year to end or not. It'd be a new start, so to speak, if only a little one.

Little or not, it's a wall looming right before him, and - as it stands - he won't be able to overcome it.

* * *

At the stroke of midnight ... nothing happens, really, except that the fireworks in the distance go off. Shouyou could wake Kageyama up, or _should_ , he isn't sure.

He doesn't. He waits, instead, patiently. Reads a book, then rereads his favourite. (He finds out that there's a whole lot more meanings behind words when you're drunk.)

And he keeps discovering new and newer meanings until, nearing three a.m., Kageyama finally awakes from the dead.

"Kageyama-san," Shouyou coos, snapping shut his book and leaning over the kotatsu, toward the other. He smiles, he's drunk, it's cold, but Kageyama's here with him, and it's a new start, he decides when Kageyama looks back at him tiredly. "Happy New Year."

The other frowns, glances at his watch, squints, then frowns some more. But when he finally stares back at Shouyou, not even asking about the time, he says quietly, "Happy New Year."

And when Kageyama slowly lifts the corner of his mouth into a crooked smile ... well, it's still cold, but to Shouyou, everything's really warm and really bearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow now guess who the mangaka is
> 
> (also i'm very sorry this is such slow build and that i'm writing so much this was supposed to be very short and cute but i just can't contain myself)
> 
> thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouyou has a few epiphanies.

It becomes a regular thing, somehow. Shouyou really doesn't know how, but he finds himself spending an evening at Kageyama's, even though he still has his key, just to eat with him. Because they're both idiots who forget the basics, he tells himself, and it's okay because it's an exception, anyway, so he can enjoy Kageyama's (startlingly decent) cooking for once.

Except it happens again, the next day, _somehow_.

And again, for the third consecutive day. That's when Shouyou loses interest in counting - because it keeps happening, every day. _Somehow_ , for real, because either it's fate (it can't be) or Kageyama is being cunning (which can't be, either, because Kageyama is just as dumb as him) to get him to eat something.

And, well, he succeeds. Somehow. Somehow, really; Shouyou can't explain it to himself, either. Kageyama catches him when he goes out to shop or comes back home - _hell_ , he's even there when Shouyou takes out the trash, a lit or unlit cigarette between his lips or about to put one there when he catches sight of Shouyou, whose fight-or-flight is kicking in so fast it almost sweeps him from his feet every time, judging by the insistent shaking of his legs. It's weird, he thinks, for Kageyama to just be there, like he has any right to stand in front of his apartment door and smoke and ... be friendly. It's unsettling, to say the least, and Shouyou can't really figure out why he's feeling this way. He should be glad, he chides himself, that there's someone to care enough to go out of their way to make sure he doesn't die, especially these days, when he's eating but still losing weight, somehow, and classes are just about to start again, and, well.

He has the feeling he won't be able. To do it, that is. To go on like this. And that feeling ... well, with every passing day, every passing _hour_ , it intensifies. At the beginning it feels just like a layer on top of his skin - thin but bearable, if he tries. Then it changes, somehow, _really_ , and it sinks between his pores, between his every cell, through his muscles and into his bones, ingrained and striking roots and draining the little rest of energy out of him, like a ... like a parasite, really.

It doesn't go away, ever, either. It did before, whenever he was around Kageyama. And, well, his company his comfort, if only a little, but it doesn't make it go away. It fades slightly, maybe, when he sits next to Kageyama under the kotatsu, eating in okay silence, and spikes minutes after he leaves the strange warmth of Kageyama's presence, only to plague him and keep him awake at night, or wake him up every two hours to remind him why he deserves the nightmares he's been having.

With Kageyama, it's a background noise - silent, subdued, but incessant. He thinks it's because of the distraction Kageyama provides, perhaps, he doesn't know, but wants to give Kageyama so much credit. Frankly, though, he doesn't do much; he just cooks and eats and asks Shouyou if he's been drinking enough throughout the day. If yes, he merely grunts in what seems to be praise. If not, he kind of loses control over his facial features as he leans over the table to give Shouyou's hair a forceful tug and yell into his ear. It's either _drink something already, dumbass_ or  _are you actually stupid, stupid_ , or anything in between, really.

But that's okay, he thinks, because it feels sort of normal, like it's just an instinctive thing Kageyama does. Shouyou doesn't ... like it, really, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He would, maybe, but he's kind of secretly glad Kageyama doesn't treat him like a porcelain doll, because he most certainly isn't. Shouyou wants normal, as far as possible, and that's what Kageyama offers, intentionally or not.

Still. That's not it, he can't help but think, at least not entirely. It keeps him on edge during the day and awake at night, and he feels like he won't be able to sleep until he figured out just what it is that bothers him. It's unhealthy, he knows, but so his whole lifestyle right now, probably, because Kageyama is capable of cooking one meal - full stop. Yeah, and his sleep pattern is disrupted and vague and not doing him any favours, honestly. He asks himself how long it takes for insomnia to get you six feet under - when, out of absolutely nowhere, it hits him like a ton of bricks.

If he didn't already lie flat on his back in his bed, he would most likely collapse to the ground from the impact of the thought. But, like this, he startles out of his immobility and jolts upright so fast he gets alarmingly dizzy. No, he thinks then, that's not it. It's the idea that clouds his vision, that makes him sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

It's him, he realises. Shouyou himself. He does it. The suppression. He wants normal, he wants ordinary, he wants _okay_. He's suppressing it, all the time when he's with Kageyama, because - why, indeed. Because it's the only way to get normal, to get ordinary, to get _okay_. He's suppressing symptoms, forcing smiles, lifting his chin - because Kageyama's there. He doesn't know if he'd do it with any other person, too, to reassure them - maybe, but not to this extent.

He's suppressing it. And he's doing hell of a bad job suppressing it.

But here's the thing: He's getting better at it. And he knows it.

* * *

So, well, he can sleep. Sleeping might be more tiring than it is recreating, but, well, he can sleep. And as it with humans, when they have what they want ... let's just say Shouyou wishes sleep would come without dreams.

Because Shouyou is starting to have really weird dreams. About Kageyama. Well, not exactly  _about_ him, just featuring him - but, as it stands, they're pretty much about him, yeah. It used to be a rare daydream that occurred maybe once a day, but now he's starting to really, genuinely dream about it, and it doesn't feel right at all. In these dreams, Kageyama is ... everywhere and nowhere, really. He's not physical, not tangible, just _there_ , somehow, and affecting Shouyou in a way only a negligible amount of people have done it before him. Kageyama isn't even really a person, in his dream, just an entity, but he _knows_ it's Kageyama.

When he wakes, he doesn't really remember any details. There's no image in his mind, because the whole dream has kind of been image-less. But the sentiment is there, still, and the fact that it was Kageyama he's dreamed about.

And when he realises the nature of those dreams, a cold heat (really) settles on top of his heart, like a fresh layer of snow that sears every cell.

It doesn't make sense. But neither do those dreams, to be honest.

* * *

Uni starts. He doesn't go. Kageyama doesn't say anything, doesn't even mention it, maybe because it's slipped his knowledge. Kageyama just tells him to eat his goddamn rice and drink more goddamn water, or tugs the colour out of his hair if he doesn't.

That's good enough for Shouyou, honestly.

* * *

He's suppressing it. And by now, he's even suppressing the fact that he's suppressing it. He's doing that a lot these days. There's his father - who he still hasn't called - and there's Sugawara - who will probably tell him not to suppress it - and there's still this doctor thing he kind of, sort of, maybe, well, forgot. Or filtered out deliberately.

No, that's a lie, and he knows. He doesn't forget, not really. These things have just somehow moved to the background of his mind, like a bunch of extras in a play - or worse, just the props. He doesn't need to think long before he's figured out who the leading actors are, and he hates it.

He doesn't forget. Every day, he say it to himself: Today is the day I will do something about this.

But then he finds himself barely surviving long enough to make it to dinner at Kageyama's, which _is still a thing and it bothers him but it doesn't, not really_.

It does. It does bother him, and he starts to realise why. He isn't sharp, far from it, but he has an idea or two about what's going on. Because ... it's happened before, inevitably, since it kind of happens to everyone, probably. But this is different - this time, he realises in time to maybe prevent it before it's too late, before he's in too deep, to steer back before he reaches the point of no return.

But when he sits and eats with Kageyama, sometimes in silence, sometimes wrangling playfully, he can't help but glance at his neighbour (friend, on good days) and think that perhaps (most likely) he's already way past that point.

It's funny, he thinks. And horrible. Horrible, mostly. Because something's happened, and something is still happening as he sits here in eerie peace and tries to enjoy these moments while they're happening, because he knows he'll regret it the second he leaves Kageyama's apartment. He knows why, too: Every hour, every _minute_ they spend together Shouyou digs and digs and digs his own grave.

But he suppresses that, too, when he is with Kageyama.

So this time, realisation hits even harder.

He's slipping into dependency. Not entirely physical, and not entirely emotional, but a weird mix of both at the same time. Not the way he's dependent on his parents, or Sugawara. Not the normal, barely healthy kind of dependency.

(He notices just how dependent he still is, as an eighteen-year-old, and he hates it, he _fucking hates it_ , but he doesn't know what to do about it, except ... jump.)

This ... this is dangerous. And the longer he lets this go on, the more dangerous it becomes.

He's been hoping from the start that it's co-dependency, in some way; a kind of symbiosis. That it's maybe mutual: Kageyama and Shouyou, the nobodies who became somebodies to each other. It sounds ... romantic, when he says it like that, but he knows there's nothing here to glorify. It might not be mutual at all, and even if it was - does that really make it worthwile? He wonders. It feels okay as long as he's with Kageyama - of course it is.

That's the problem, really, isn't it? Kageyama is reliable, but not infallible, like every human that walks on this earth. And even if Kageyama would never hurt Shouyou deliberately, he might just end up doing that. And if ... if those strings ... tear ...

He's weak. He knows he is. This is something he doesn't suppress at all, surprisingly. He's endlessly weak and fragile, even for a human. If those strings tear, and he collides with the cold hard ground ...

He ought to put an end to this. _Ought to_ , really, he thinks as he smiles and accepts Kageyama's invitation for the - twentieth time? He's lost count for real.

 _I really am trash_ , he thinks to himself later, when he realises he's - once again - fallen asleep right after dinner. And he's so, so cold.

But Kageyama only frowns and grumbles, "Don't sleep in the kotatsu, dumbass."

And Shouyou knows for sure: It's too late. He's in too deep.

* * *

January goes by in a blur, somehow. It's weird; time has never passed quite this fast for Shouyou. Especially after the first five months he knows just how slowly time tends to trudge by. He realises that this, too, has to have something to do with Kageyama. He acknowledges that - he really does. But that doesn't mean he likes it one bit.

(He does. He does like it. A lot, actually. But he also doesn't. And he really, really doesn't understand himself these days.)

But it's good, he thinks, maybe. Because it means winter is coming to a close, which means more sun, which means more vitamin D. Right? Right. So it'll all go away, and he won't even need any pills or medication, which works as well.

It's reassuring, too, because lately ... he's been kind of cold. Colder than before, that is. Shouyou freezes all the time, now, and he doesn't realise why until he notices that his jeans and sweatpants start hanging too low around his hips. It's really ... weird, because his hips have always been kind of wide in comparison to his shoulders, _like a girl's_ , his mother would often say, and he'd hate her a little bit for it. And he remembers that jeans in particular would always be kind of tight around his hips.

Now, if he doesn't pull up his trousers every two minutes, his barely existent butt covered in underwear will show.

When he weighs himself for the first time in ... a year? ... He begins to understand.

Since the start of high school he hasn't been under fifty kilos. And, also, he's pretty sure his arms and legs haven't always been covered with this much body hair.

Something is _wrong_.

* * *

"Did you get a job yet?" Kageyama asks one day, when they're finished doing the dishes. At this point, at the beginning, Kageyama would ask him if he wanted tea, or coffee, and Shouyou would either decline or accept. (He's never once declined.) Now, it's kind of natural for him to stay over longer, until late in the evening. Kageyama says it's okay, because he can't fall asleep this early anyway, so ... it's okay, apparently. It's not, probably, and Shouyou shouldn't impose on his neighbour/friend/somebody like that. Then again, he can't sleep either, because for some reason, Kageyama and him are similar like that. In other ways, too, when it's about food. And he can't help but notice that here, for reasons unknown, it's just a tiny bit warmer than in his own apartment, and he's been so cold, and he is _so damn cold right_ now, even in the kotatsu _-_

"Oi."

Shouyou is ripped from his thoughts so abruptly, he gets a little dizzy. He blinks and stares, trying to remember what Kageyama's question was about. After half a minute, he gives up, so Kageyama repeats it.

"A job," he says, voice gruff. "Did you get one?"

Shouyou's eyes widen at that, because - _oh_. That is another thing he's been ... forgetting, or suppressing. "No," he replies slowly, forcing a smile as he lies. "Still looking."

Kageyama nods, almost ... content. "No need," he says, looking down to glare at the table. When Shouyou makes a silent, questioning noise, he glances at him - with obvious reluctance. "I ..." He falters and turns away again, then clears his throat - a thing he does when he's embarrassed. "I got you one," Kageyama mumbles.

This is the point where Shouyou is torn between wanting to punch and wanting to hug Kageyama. It's not his business, he thinks for a second, and this is another thing that makes him more ... dependent. And also, it's not like Shouyou _wants_ to work, or has any time or energy or social competence right now. Sure, it was Sugawara's idea, but -  _god damn it_. He can't really be mad at Kageyama. Not when he's being endearingly awkward and unconsciously caring.

"Really?" he exclaims, causing the other to wince and stare at him in wonder. Shouyou distantly notes that he's smiling the smile he hasn't managed in months, the one he's been wanting to show Kageyama all this time - but now that it's there, now that it works, his vision is limited on the fiery glimmer in Kageyama's eyes, which lasts about ten seconds - because that's when Shouyou decides to ask, "Where?"

Kageyama's face doesn't fall, it _crashes_. And Shouyou jolts, because all of a sudden, Kageyama looks ... apologetic? No, that can't be; Shouyou is pretty sure that Kageyama isn't even capable of feeling sorry ... except ...

His eyes widen in realisation, and they don't stop widening for a while. Admittedly, Shouyou is an idiot (Kageyama is, too) and he has absoluely no idea where this came from ... but one look at Kageyama's face suffices to validate his suspicion.

"No, you didn't," he says, now torn between laughing and crying. Laughing because ... this just has to be a joke. Crying because this joke is  _really just too good to be true_. But Kageyama only looks even more apologetic, so Shouyou understands with a painful jolt in his heart that Kageyama is, in point of fact, not joking.

"He said you can start next week," he admits, then exclaims, " _Dumbass!_ " when Shouyou faints.

* * *

Theoretically, Shouyou could just say no, thank you, Kageyama, because he'd really rather not meet this infamous boss of his. He could start with, well, the fact that he's artistically challenged, doesn't work well under the pressure that's definitely there in the publishing industry (ha, ha, and he wants to become a writer), and _he is really otherworldly scared of this boss_ , because if he hates Kageyama, he doesn't even want to imagine how much he'll hate _Shouyou_.

But all he ends up with is a half-hearted, "You're just doing this so you don't have to deal with him on your own anymore!" Which, admittedly, kind of more or less satisfies him, because it means it might just be a little bit of co-dependency.

"Shut up! That's just a side effect," Kageyama growls, gripping Shouyou's hair. The way he glares and frowns is evidence enough that it's the truth - because Kageyama is adorably embarrassed, again, and Shouyou might even smile if the situation wasn't to cry over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: oikawa. for sure. probably. maybe. i'll see. (i'm so sorry idk what i'm doing.)
> 
> for now, have this. 3000 words of angst. maybe. i can't tell anymore.
> 
> to whoever's made it this far: thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here. Oikawa.

This is not a good idea, he decides. In fact it couldn't be any farther from a good idea.

He has'nt been sleeping, again, but this time for a whole different reason. He's not simply troubled, this time, but nervous. And by nervous he means that is nerves really don't give him even a split second of peace. Literally nervous, except it's an outright understatement, but he doesn't believe for a moment that the vast variety of human languages can provide a word or sound to express _just how_ nervous he is. It's dumb, he knows, because this is just a job, and he doesn't even really _need_ a job, since his parents still easily sustain him ... and ... he ... argh -

He could just say no. In fact he figures Kageyama kind of expects him to say no, judging from the looks he's giving him when they leave for the train station Monday morning, seven a.m., and it's really too early, too dark and too cold to function properly, how the hell do adults to this. He could say no, still, and he wants to, he actually seriously considers doing it, now, _now now now_ , before it really is too late.

But then - well, what? He glances down at himself, to the trousers he dug out of the abyss that is his closet, because they are the fanciest he owns and he's also kind of, sort of, been hoping they'd fit him a little better than the others. Those, too, however, keep sliding too low on his hips - even though he's wearing his belt and closed it around the very last hole - and bunch up weirdly around his thighs. They might pass as baggy, in the right lighting, but it mostly just looks strange on him, like a kid trying to wear their parent's clothing, and he positively _hates_ this.

He glances at Kageyama, but he doesn't have to in order to know that Kageyama looks decent (hot) without even so much as trying, and it pisses him off and turns him on _at the same fucking time_ , and he hates this; he hates Kageyama.

(He actually only hates that he can't hate Kageyama, really.)

The walk to the train station is far too short for his liking. The train ride itself, too. The steps Kageyama takes, however, are too big, in more than one way, and _god damn it all_ he's not going to survive this day, he's not going to live to eat any more of Kageyama's admittedly decent cooking, bingewatch Netflix or wallow in self-loating.

In other words, he's quite certain this is how he's going to die.

When, in fact, he'd really prefer to just, well, jump, obviously. Not necessarily from a high building. The train tracks will do, he thinks, looking back wistfully at the platform, but he's being grabbed and dragged forward through the crowd, Kageyama's fingers too firm and too warm around his forearm, and he swears he will ... there's be words that'll spill, that he'll blurt out, that he'll maybe regret later but not as he's shouting them into Kageyama's face.

_He can't just meddle like that. Can't just expect Shouyou to listen and not do anything stupid while ... while Kageyama himself drags him to the supposedly worst boss ever, smokes like a chimney, and allows Shouyou to slip into this unhealthy, **unhealthy** symbiosis with no one but himself._

But then he deflates, really _really_ deflates - like his lungs have never known air, that's what it feels like when he realises that of course Kageyama does stupid things, because that's just how Kageyama is: stupid, awkward, hypocritical.

Hah. Kageyama's like him, that way, and probably like any other person. And it's okay, he tries to think, it's okay because Kageyama wants to help, and Shouyou would probably do the exact same if it was the other way round, and he doesn't know how that's logic at all, but it helps him calm down, and _God is he calm he's not calm at all he'll die he'll die he'll die and it won't be good it won't end well_.

It's funny, so funny, but he doesn't laugh, because he can't, because he's busy choking, actually. Life seems endless when you're sad, Shouyou knows by now, but this walk is still far too short.

* * *

In the staircase - twenty, maybe only ten steps away from a guy who must have the shittiest personality on the planet - he finally, finally tries to be reasonable.

"I have no training whatsoever," he brings up. It's not what he wants to say, really, but it's the last straw, the very last, and _there is the door oh God he'll die_. _He wants to go home. He wants to go **home** -_

"So what?" Kageyama drawls, unimpressed. "Me neither."

That should maybe help Shouyou calm down, but then he remembers that Kageyama's boss hates Kageyama (which is really weird and kind of impossible, Shouyou realises now, belatedly) so, yeah, fuck calm.

Kageyama decides that this is another perfect instance (it's not) to be a mindreader. "Don't panic," he says when Shouyou starts fidgeting. "He's ..." Kageyama hesitates. He looks pained, but Shouyou is really too busy (trying not to die) to give any fucks. "... not nice at all, but you'll survive it."

He knows, he _knows_ Kageyama just wants to help, just wants him to calm down, just wants him to maybe not die right away, but there's just the fact that Kageyama's words aren't anywhere near reassuring. Ever, actually, but perhaps he can leave him in the belief they're comfort. They're not, really, and _there's the door oh God._ They're at the door, now, and this is it, then. The end of Hinata Shouyou, who's lived a short and not at all fulfilled life, who died unhappy and wishing he wouldn't be.

But what does it matter, anyway - the real, the _actual_ Shouyou died long ago, in high school, buried inside this version of himself and no longer revivable, apparently.

"Sure," is what he settles for, even though he's not sure at all, and by now he hopes that this is it, that his story ends here, before it can really begin. "Sure," he repeats, and follows Kageyama inside.

* * *

First thing he notices about this ... Oikawa person, from the distance he looks spectacularly un-shitty. Then, abruptly, he's up and right in front of Shouyou, so fast he can barely notice the slight bounce in his walk. He's face to chest with Kageyama's boss, and he panics because Kageyama is nowhere to be seen and tall people generally frighten him into an early grave. He looks up so far that he'd be able to see Kageyama's face, with the angle and all, but he still only sees a neck - pale and broad and _oh God_ that Adam's apple. While he curses tall people he looks further up, only to realise that this person isn't only taller than Kageyama, but also more handsome, objectively speaking, with those cheekbones and the jawline and the everything, really.

It's a little too much of everything, actually. Too much to take in, too much to process. He's taller, yes, and more handsome, definitely, _of course objectively speaking_ ... but also ... somehow ...

Somehow, this person is also so, _so_ much scarier than Kageyama.

And it doesn't make sense, at all, and Shouyou's so damn tired of things not making sense. It doesn't match at all - the smile that stretches across this guy's features and the vibes he's radiating. The smile is perfectly decent, fine, maybe considered conventionally beautiful, and it shows a neat row of teeth and leaves some wrinkles but not too many, and it's scary, it's so scary how ... no, he doesn't know how, or why, but something about this person makes him want to take some steps back, to put distance between them. The way it was with Kageyama when Shouyou first met him, he realises, but differently too. This guy is scarier than Kageyama, but it's a different kind of scary, because this person is nothing like Kageyama.

And he hates it - he hates that no matter where his thoughts stray, they always return to Kageyama, somehow. He hates it, he hates Kageyama, he hates _himself_ , so much, _so fucking much_ -

"Oikawa Tooru," the guy says, low and quiet and, well, his voice is as decent as the rest of him, and by now it's borderline disturbing.

Basically, Shouyou has to keep his shit together in order not to actually retreat. "Hinata Shouyou," he says, glancing to the side in search of Kageyama and finding him staring - frowning - at him, with that focused (constipated) expression he sometimes gets, and turning away as soon as their eyes meet, as if to signal that Shouyou's on his own in this one. He looks back at awfully plain and awfully decent brown eyes, smiling tensely and bending forward to bow, and stops dead when he catches sight of a hand, pale and sinewy, and held out. To him, as it seems.

He _feels_ the smile falling off his face, and he hopes and prays Oikawa doesn't see. Thing is, he's never had anything against others touching him, or him touching others, as long as it's only brief and fleeting, which a handshake should be, really.

But that's not the point. The point is: a bow shows respect, which is exactly what he should be showing, because not only does he feel respect - okay, no, respect's the wrong word; he feels fear, raw and profound and ingrained, like the need to breathe. A bow shows respect and a handshake shows trust, and even if this Oikawa was to be the last person on this planet, in this sun system, Shouyou would rather die alone than to trust him.

So much for first impressions.

Shouyou swallows and lifts his hand tentatively. It's scary, too, how small and bony it is in comparison to Oikawa's. Paler, too, if possible, and it's what Shouyou clings to in order to distract himself when they're actually shaking hands. It's not bad, really, and that's the thing. Oikawa's hand is neither sweaty nor dry, just ... decent, like the rest of him, and -

... and that's the scariest part, maybe.

"Nice to meet you," Oikawa says.

"Yes," is all Shouyou can manage, smiling and hoping he doesn't look as miserable as he feels.

* * *

Five minutes in, and Oikawa is still startingly un-shitty. There is something definitely off about him, something Shouyou can't place or name or label, and it'd maybe bother him if he wasn't already used to his inability. But Shouyou wouldn't call it shittiness, per se.

He keeps glancing at Kageyama, who glances back and rolls his eyes, repeatedly, as if he can read Shouyou's thought pattern. Which ... he probably can.

He'll live. As long as awkwardness isn't lethal, he'll live.

* * *

One hour in. Oikawa is weird, but Shouyou is still waiting for the shitty part. He's ... not exactly nice, as Kageyama said, but he's not an asshole (yet), and he's maybe polite.

Kageyama is the other way around - loud and rude and abrasive, because he doesn't know any better, but he means well, Shouyou knows, and Shouyou also knows he really needs to stop thinking about Kageyama half of the ~~(all the)~~ time. He needs to stop, _this_ needs to stop. Kageyama needs to stop. It's all Kageyama's fault and _god_ he's doing it again.

He tries to listen as Oikawa explains the basics of inking, he really does, but - okay, he doesn't. The second Oikawa has opened his mouth to speak Shouyou realised that this was going to be a long, long,  _long_ day. He'd rather listen to Kageyama, who offered, and who is - in fact - the one doing the inking, and shading, _and_ lettering, but Oikawa waved him off with an airy laugh and, "No, no, Tobio-chan," Shouyou's jaw drops, but Kageyama doesn't even flinch at the name, " _you_ do your work, and  _I_ can teach Shouyou-chan," _what the actual fuck_ , Shouyou thinks, "the basics of inking."

Okay, he can maybe start to see the shitty part, now that he thinks about it.

* * *

Two hours in, he realises that he doesn't know for how long he still has to be in the same room as ... him. It's difficult to explain, really difficult, but now he sees it; he sees where Kageyama's coming from, though most of Oikawa's shittiness might just be the fact that this room is very small, very cramped, and not exactly designed to spend more than a few hours in, especially not with other people. Maybe that's it - the fact that Kageyama is Oikawa's only assistant, that the has to shoulder his shittiness all on his own.

It's ... understandable. Shouyou doesn't think he could do it. Shouyou is thankful he's not alone in this, in the end.

"When's," he starts and jolts when Oikawa lifts his gaze to stare at them. It's a thing Oikawa tends to do, and Shouyou can already tell because he does it _all_ the time, regularly, and it's off-putting and just ... wrong, because he feels like an object to be examined, like a fossil in a museum. He leans closer to Kageyama, who mimicks the movement, and lowers his voice, "finishing time?"

There's a beat. Then, silent, barely a whisper, "Two."

That's it. He'll die. Of what, he's not sure yet.

* * *

Three hours in, and he kind of wants to die.

Yes. Again.

It's not his fault, though. It's not Kageyama's or Oikawa's fault, either, really. But he's running out of the little energy two hours of sleep can provide, and if he doesn't breathe in some new, unused air -

"Ah, Tobio-chan," Oikawa says a split second before Shouyou's chin slips from his hand and sends his head toward the edge of the table. He startles awake - as awake as a sleep-deprived zombie can be - and looks at Oikawa, who returns his gaze even though he's technically talking to Kageyama. He still can't believe he's one of those people who do this ... this ... _that_ , and it doesn't really fit, it doesn't match Oikawa's blow-dry hair and his angular face and - "What about your cigarette break?"

Shouyou blinks and glances at Kageyama - away from Oikawa, who's still fixating him - and, wow, he realises something. First off, he's dumb, but he knew _that_ already. More - no, most, yes, most importantly, not once during any of their dinners did Kageyama ever, _ever_ excuse himself to go outside and smoke. So, technically, as things are ... Kageyama has not smoked for five consecutive hours every evening, for the past month, because -

Well, why? Shouyou thinks it might be ... okay, it's far-fetched, but -

"Oh," Kageyama says, next to him. He's doing that expression again, and Shouyou would laugh if he could, but the air in the room is thick and cold and he doesn't want to inhale it anymore. They lock eyes, then, and Shouyou is almost too conscious of Oikawa's gaze on them, and it's unnerving, and just _wrong_ , and he needs to -

"Okay," Kageyama says, already standing, and that's when Shouyou starts to panic, _really_ panic, because he can't possibly ... Kageyama can't leave him alone. Alone with Oikawa. It seems impossible to do, he can't, he won't, he will absolutely not -

"Hinata." He winces and stares at Kageyama, into dark blue, and it's kind of calming, like a port in the middle of a storm. Kageyama inclines his head, and Shouyou gets it instantly, mostly because he wants to. He stands, too, with weak knees and out of breath, somehow.

A beat. Then Oikawa's voice, too loud and too static in this small room. "Shouyou-chan smokes, too?"

He just nods. He doesn't even know what he's looking at, anymore. He nods, and nods again. He needs to get out of this room.

"You shouldn't," Oikawa says, scolding, but it doesn't sound earnest. Then again, nothing he says sounds earnest. "It's bad for your health."

Shouyou knows. He really does know, and he'd never, but at Oikawa's words he has the sudden urge to ... defend smoking.

He doesn't.

* * *

"Are you okay?"

Well, there's a lot of replies flooding Shouyou's mind, most of which contain something along the lines of  _hell no_ or _will this altitude be enough to kill me_ ... but he decides to be fair, at least a little, and not too dramatic. He's not okay, though. A bit more okay now that he's breathing cold air, no matter how badly it sears his lungs, but still ... not okay. No, he's not, he's not fucking okay, and he hasn't been okay for half a year now, and he's so tired, so _tired_ of saying or thinking he is.

He's not okay, and there's that. He is not okay, full stop.

"Oi." A jab to the side that makes him draw in breath. "Are you listenting?"

He blinks away the tears of pain forming in his eyes. He stares at Kageyama, then at the cigarette between his lips, and tries to think back to what he realised mere seconds ago, but he's too tired, too weary, and just glad that maybe Kageyama is really cutting it down. "Yes," he mumbles.

"Yes, you're listening, or yes, you're okay?" Kageyama asks.

Maybe, just maybe, it's about time he admits the truth. To himself, and Kageyama, and the whole world while he's at it.

He sighs. "Both."

* * *

Four hours in. Shouyou wants to go home already, but he stops looking at his watch from then on.

* * *

"I'm looking forward to working with you, Shouyou-chan."

"Oh." He bows. "Sure."

* * *

"Are you okay?"

No, god fucking damn it, he isn't okay. He isn't fine, either, or great, or good. He's miserable, yeah, but so is everyone. No one is okay, and if one more person even dares to say the word he'll have to snap something in two. He's not okay, _not okay_ , and at this point, he'll never be okay again. _Doctor_ , a part of him thinks. _Fuck off_ , thinks the rest. A doctor won't fix him, because they _can't_ , no one can, and no one has to. He's not broken, and you can't mend what's not broken to begin with, right? He's not broken, he's just _not okay_ , and god help him - one more time, one more _fucking time_ -

"Hinata?" Sugawara says carefully, as if he could sense -

Oh. Of course. Of course he can.

"Yeah," he says. Sugawara knows. Shouyou knows Sugawara knows. "Um, I'm okay." He's so proud, so proud of himself - his voice doesn't even crack as he says the word. "I found a job, can you believe it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i fucked up. i know. i'm sorry. but you wanted oikawa, so here he is. my version of him, anyway I CAN'T DO IT ANY BETTER I'M SORRY I'M ONLY HUMAN
> 
> btw it's amazing people read this at all, so, yeah, thanks.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of eating disorder / general angsting

Hands shaking, nerves wrecked - he stares at the phone, display still alight from the call he just ended.

He should be ashamed. And, god, he is. He is ashamed. Ashamed and terrified, wondering just how many nights (days) the words he said will haunt him in his sleep. His words, yes, and Sugawara's too.

 _That's great, Hinata._ It really isn't, he wanted to shout, but didn't. _And did you go see a doctor?_

Well. No time, he would have liked to say, because it might have been a little true, might have been a little more true than what he actually said.

_Oh, yeah, I did._

He still cringes thinking about it, about the undertones in his voice and the unsaid words in between that most definitely gave him away.

 _Everything's fine_.

He stands, abruptly, pulls up his pants (unnecessarily) and stumbles into his bedroom, only to repeat the motion of dragging his pants up over his hips, another redundant move, since they keep sliding down, no matter how he tries to fix them, they just. They keep hanging too low and too wide around him. And it's no longer of any use to try and lie to himself, or anyone, because _he_ knows everything is not fine, and if _he_ knows, Sugawara does, too.

He throws himself into his closet, sifting through piles and searching - frantically - for the brown leather belt he knows for a fact he's left at home months ago, because of all the things he's expected from college life, losing a significant amount of weight was not part of it.

He slumps, defeated - it was a little (a lot) like life itself; looking for something you know you're not going to find, no matter how hard you try, and by this point Shouyou wants to laugh and cry and lie down and never get up again. He wants silence, the good kind.

Not the silence that answered him on the phone minutes ago. Followed by -

_That's good, then, Hinata._

\- and he knew, Shouyou knew (again) that Sugawara knew (naturally). Shouyou does not know, though, why Sugawara decided not to -

_That's good, then, Hinata._

He squeezes his eyes shut; everything's too bright even though night has already begun to set it. The air seems to glow, all of a sudden, so alight that he sees white and yellow and red behind his eyelids when he presses them close. It's normal, he thinks, this is normal, this is okay, he can handle this.

_That's good, then, Hinata._

And it is, or will be, except it's not, and it will not be. He stands, again, shaking hands darting to the loops on his pants where belts are supposed to go through, to lift them up, and further him, but as soon as he lets go they fall right down again - is it even possible to lose this much weight in just, what, one month, because he can't believe this is happening. He's looked at himself before, in the mirror, at his torso, without the shirt he's drowning in, and he just - can't -

He can't see it. He can't see any change, no matter how closely he looks, he's just as weirdly scrawny and bony in all the wrong places, like he's always been, like before, he can't see anything -

 _That's good_ -

No, it isn't. It isn't, and he can no longer tell himself it's going to be.

* * *

He doesn't like silence, generally. He doesn't like the opposite, either, but if he - well. Sometimes he needs silence, like everyone; after a tiring day of noise and uproar, after a fifteen minute train ride, after socialising for too long and with the wrong people.

(People like Oikawa Tooru.)

He likes the silences he can share with Kageyama, somehow, but he's not sure why. He's scared to label what's going on between them, whether they're neighbours or reluctant friends (or colleagues, now), he's scared and confused and wants to postpone thinking about it for as long as possible. But he likes to believe that there's something transcendent, some kind of mutual understanding between them - as in ... they don't need words to get each other. It's worked before, often enough.

But now ... now is different. The silence that greets him when he enters Kageyama's apartment -

He hates it. (Hates too many things, too recently.)

The table is set up, dinner is ready. It's still strange that they eat together, it's weird and another thing Shouyou is too scared to label, because if he labels it, it becomes too real, too overwhelming and too substantial, and whatever _it_ is, it'll grow and prosper and - eventually - wither.

It's happened far too many times.

There's sound, actually, so no complete silence. Shouyou can't hear the blood rushing in his veins - it's drowned out by the sound of the traffic outside and eating inside, so it should be bearable, he thinks. It should be, it really should be, but it's too silent and the air is too thick and too empty, and he really needs Kageyama to say _something_. It's never been this bad. Silence has never been this loud, never been this heavy on his ears. A weight on his shoulders and chest, and it makes him want to cave in and lie down and disappear, he doesn't know anymore. He doesn't know why silence bothers him now, now of all times, because this is how it always is, or usually. They're quiet, or Kageyama is - Kageyama rarely talks at all, only whenever he deems it necessary, and lets Shouyou talk if he wants to, Kageyama listens, silently, it's maybe how he's wired, so this - this -

The bowl clatters too loudly when Kageyama sets it down on the table. Even the clack of the chopsticks rings and _rings_ in Shouyou's head, like an echo, like Sugawara's -

"I warned you," Kageyama says abruptly, ripping him from his train of thought. Silence, then, "About Oikawa-san." And it takes Shouyou a second, and another, and then -

He smiles. He smiles, mostly because he doesn't know what else to do with himself. Kageyama doesn't sound but looks apologetic, as if just now grasped the whole situation, and - well. Any other day, Shouyou might have got angry, might have flared up and thrown a little tantrum until he's run out of energy and has to sit down, but now, today, the way things are ... he's out of energy to begin with.

He's really not being himself. He doesn't know if he can ever go back to being himself.

"It's - " His voice breaks off, because - what is it? What's he supposed to say, really, when it's not actually fine, or okay? It's -

"Oi," Kageyama grunts. He stands, now, bent over the table to grab the dishes, but his gaze is elsewhere, apparently somewhere in space, or directed at the air in front of Shouyou.

Who now sits up, too, to help Kageyama, hands darting to his belt loops to try and -

"Have you, like," Kageyama lowers his voice and narrows his eyes at him, "lost weight?"

Shouyou freezes mid-movement, even though his pants are dangerously low over his behind. But Kageyama's looking at his arms, it seems, where his sweatshirt isn't as tight around him as it was before. And, well, Kageyama is an idiot, so if even _he_ notices ...

"No," Shouyou says, too loudly and too quickly. Kageyama gives him a weird look, which he should have expected, so he thinks frantically, scrambles for an explanation that won't sound too strange. He settles for, "Just lost my belt," and suppresses to urge to slam his palm to his forehead.

At this, Kageyama just stares, blankly, like he's at a loss for words. As if he's talking to a child, maybe. Or simply an idiot, which - honestly - is most likely the case.

"You've never had a belt," he states, like it's a fact.

Which it is, kind of, it definitely has been a fact for the six months he's lived here, and Shouyou's face flares up - instantly - at being caught lying, and -

And it takes him approximately ten seconds of awkward spluttering and stammering until he freezes once more, for a whole other reason.

"Wait," he grits out, positively bright and red by now, if the heat in his cheeks is anything to go by. "How do you know that?"

He regrets the question while he's still saying it, because Kageyama's face does that weird tell-tale expression he usually wears when he's embarrassed - eyebrows drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line and conspicuously wobbling, forehead in wrinkles. Also, annoyingly enough, he doesn't blush like Shouyou, or any other normal person -

"I don't know!" Kageyama stammers out, his back ramrod straight and arms pressed to his sides, like he's being tortured, when in actuality Shouyou is the humiliated one - "More importantly, why did you lie?"

At this point, Shouyou craves the silence they've shared just a minute ago. His head is reeling with too much blood, and it leaves him winded and confused and he ends up burying his face in his hands. But not before shouting a desperate "Shut up!" which Kageyama, naturally, ignores.

"How the hell - " Shouyou flinches at the volume, and the word, the force behind it ... and Kageyama pauses, actually pauses and lowers his voice a bit, as if he just realised how loudly it rumbled through the room, in between the walls of a too empty and too cold apartment. "Haven't you been eating properly?" he corrects himself.

The heat begins to seep from Shouyou's face into his hands. There's sweat, too, from his forehead or palms or both, and he brings his hands down to his pants to wipe them dry, resisting the urge to draw his index fingers through his belt loops. Kageyama is still an idiot, and yet quick enough to catch the awkward movement, looking at Shouyou with that disgustingly self-complacent face of his that demands to be slapped off -

"Of course, you turd!" he shouts, indignant and - disappointed, maybe, like he hoped Kageyama might be able understand (explain) what he doesn't (can't). "We eat together every day!" he reminds him, as if to _ask_ him to do the thinking here for him, because Shouyou clearly is at his limit.

Silence engulfs them, worse than before. Shouyou can't stand it, the way it oozes through his skin and muscle and settles heavy and irremovable into his bones. He looks away, turns away, to the waiting dishes then the ground and, eventually, the far corner of the room, with the pile of paintings and palettes and still wet brushes -

He ventures a glance at Kageyama, inevitably, because he wants to know, he really wants to see and absorb and understand what goes through this person's mind and keeps him up at night and gets him to pick up brush or pencil -

And he finds Kageyama already looking at him, in the same way or similar, his face slack and mouth open, as if he just realised something.

There's a beat. Then, before the silence becomes deafening, Kageyama breaks it.

"After eating ... " His shoulders slump forward, void of tension. It's only in his voice, now, and it makes him sound strangled. "... do you, um ..." He gestures, but Shouyou doesn't (want to) understand. Kageyama swallows, straightens his back, and - "... do you throw up. After eating."

And, well. Any other day, Shouyou would have screamed and protested and rampaged.

But, well, today ... he just turns on his heel and marches right out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is worth the wait. probably not, tho. thanks for reading anyway!


End file.
